


The Big Picture

by Peril_in_Peace



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A fix-it I guess, Angst, Avengers 4 speculation, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, GotG Vol. 2, Guardians-centric, Started before Infinity War/Not Infinity War Compliant, Team as Family, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-02-18 07:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13095792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peril_in_Peace/pseuds/Peril_in_Peace
Summary: The Avengers realize the Time Stone might be used to go back and set key moments in the past... right... to  better prepare to win the battle against Thanos... a battle they're soundly losing.Peter Quill goes back to a pivotal moment. Maybe doing things differently will give them the edge they need in the greater war. Unfortunately, time doesn't like to be messed with, and neither do Celestials.





	1. Start Over

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by speculation and production photos for Avengers 4 hinting at "flashbacks." 
> 
> What if they're not just flashbacks?
> 
> This fic was started long before Infinity War was released... but was in progress during the media blitz of trailers and tv spots... so some references to commercials and trailers may occur, but this is not Infinity War complaint and will not spoil the movie or have the same outcome. :)

“I thought Yondu was your father.” 

Peter reflexively threw Drax a confused look. “What? We’ve been together this whole time, and you thought Yondu was my actual blood relative?”

Rocket looked between them incredulously. “One’s  _ blue _ !” 

Drax gestured at Peter as though the resemblance was completely obvious.

“ _ No _ , he’s not my--” 

Peter cut himself off, without completely knowing why… just that the words he was about to say somehow  _ hurt _ in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Drax seemed to pick up on his uncertainty and sat back, grinning victoriously. Rocket shook his head, mumbling something about his  _ issues _ . 

_ “You people got issues,”  _ was what Peter heard in his head. 

_ “Well, of course I have issues. That’s my freakin’ father!”  _

Peter could  _ almost feel _ himself shouting, despite it only being in his head, with a deep seated terror so profound that when the man next to him spoke up, he nearly stood up and  _ ran _ . 

“Well…” Ego seemed to read his hesitation too, and decided to move the conversation along. Peter schooled his features and took another slurp of his soup, trying to ignore Gamora’s stare. 

“Whatever the reason,” Ego continued. “That old pirate kept you from me… kept us apart long enough. We have a chance for a fresh start now, Peter. What do you say? We can leave now, if you’d like? On my world, I can share with you everything you need to know about your very special heritage, be the father your mother would have wanted me to be… would have wanted you to have.” 

Peter forced himself to look over at Ego’s face. His expression looked sincere enough, but at the man’s mention of his mother… a cold chill ran all the way through him and a cloying ache built in his chest. He swallowed. “Uh…” 

“It’s a lot, I know…” Ego grinned magnanimously and stood up, patting him on the shoulder. “Think about it. Talk to your friends--they’re welcome too, of course...” He looked around, out to the woods. “I gotta take a whiz. Back in a minute.” 

Peter took an actual breath then, as Ego finally stepped away from the campfire. He looked at Gamora, standing up before she even finished saying, “Let’s take a walk.” 

He followed her silently, deeper into the woods. It didn’t feel quite right. He was starting to realize… he sort of had an idea of what was supposed to happen. 

This had all happened...  _ before _ . 

Something else was happening  _ now _ . Whenever that was. 

He was focusing so hard on trying to remember  _ what, _ that he walked right past Gamora when she stopped in a little clearing. 

“Peter,” she said softly. 

He paused and looked up, then back at her a few paces behind. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

Peter didn’t really know what to say, so he just went with the truth. 

“No.”

Gamora’s face fell, and she barely hesitated before marching toward him and grasping his hands. 

“Look, I…” she struggled to find the right thing to say. “Do… you remember the story you told me, from when you were a child, about the man with the magic--”

“David Hasselhoff,” he said softly, automatically.

Gamora tilted her head. Peter almost laughed. “Was that his name?” 

“Yeah. You remembered it wrong. It wasn’t a magic boat, it was a talking car.” 

“How did you know what I was--”

Peter frowned and rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles. It felt normal, even though he’d never done it before. He expected her to pull away, but she just looked down at their hands. 

“Something’s wrong,” he said. “Something’s really wrong, and I can’t remember what it is.” 

“Something about your father?” Gamora asked. Peter grimaced, reflexively. 

“Don’t call him that. He’s not my father.” 

“But what if he--”

Peter shook his head. “He  _ is _ . I mean, he is… like… biologically, but… I don’t trust him. He’s not… He’s not a good guy, and we can’t go with him.” 

“But how do you know? Was it something your mother said, when you were a child? Is that what you can’t remember?” 

“No… this is… this has _happened before_. I can’t explain it, but I’ve… _we’ve_ _been here before_. Like… the most intense deja vu ever… And I _know..._ if we go with him, it will be really bad. He’s… he’s really evil and we _can’t go_."

Gamora considered this for a moment, “That’s… not…” She sighed, squeezing his wrists. “If he’s evil, we’ll just kill him.” 

Peter smiled wryly. “I… appreciate that, but… I don’t think it’s that ea--” 

Gamora’s expression shifted in an instant and stopped him cold. Maybe it was the tone of his voice, maybe something in his body language… he wasn’t sure. But something tipped her off… 

“You’re afraid,” she said. Peter let go of her hands and dropped his arms to his sides. 

Peter just looked at her for a long, stretched-out moment, before settling on exactly the right phrasing. 

“I’m terrified.” 

Gamora didn’t move, except for a couple of blinks and a deep breath. 

“Then we will stay here and fix the  _ Milano _ and tell him to… take a hike?” she gave him a little smile, as if hoping for some validation of her small effort to cheer him up. 

He exhaled slowly, through pursed lips, nodded, then stepped toward her and pulled her into a tight hug. Caught off-guard, Gamora struggled just slightly, her arms pinned to her sides. 

“Thank you,” Peter whispered. Gamora seemed to relax at that, and reached one of her arms up at the elbow and gently ran her fingers along his back before he stepped back. 

“What if he doesn’t want to leave without you?” She asked quietly, hushed, as if the wrong person might now hear their plans.

Peter frowned. “I don’t know. But he’s dangerous… maybe for now… we stall. Tell him I need to help Rocket with the repairs for a day or two before leaving… maybe he’ll buy that. Or even that we’ll go to his world in our ship once it’s fixed. Maybe he’ll leave if he thinks I’ll follow.” 

“He has no reason to suspect you wouldn’t. We’ll try it, and if he doesn’t buy it, we wait it out and come up with another plan.” 

Peter nodded. “I have this weird feeling like another day or two will make all the difference…” he murmured, running a hand through his hair. 

“What about the girl he brought with him?”

“Mantis?” Peter asked. 

“I… didn’t recall her name.” 

“She… yeah… don’t let her touch you,” Peter said. “I think she can… like… read minds or something… but… she’s… not evil? Not like him. If… if we can… shit, I don’t know how, but… if we can get him to leave without her...”

Gamora raised an eyebrow and Peter shook the thought away. “You’re right, one thing at a time,” he said. 

* * *

_ He dreamed in green. _

_ A bright, emerald green shroud, like colored plastic lenses covered his eyes, tinting…  _

_ The dust. The chalky dust whipping across the surface of a planet, studded with wrecks of buildings and… and downed Nova Starblasters? Peter looked up through the haze at three suns.  _

_ He could hear the sounds of battle on the other side of a copse of rocks jutting up from the dusty surface.  _

Nothing left. Why was there nothing fucking left? 

_ He choked down his dread and caught barely a glimpse of green and blue--Gamora and Nebula, sword and staves striking out at their “siblings” just far enough away that the sound of each impact came at the slightest delay behind his seeing it.  _

_ “Quill, now!” _

_ He turned around and ran toward the sound of Strange’s voice. The sorcerer held his arm out, holographic sigils rotating around it.  _ Not holographic _ , he corrected himself without going so far as to even mentally use the word “magic.” Krugarr could call him closed-minded to the end of fucking days… it was… crazy, right? _

_ But Stark and Rogers stood around him, touching the amulet. Peter skidded to a stop between them, and hesitantly held out his hand. This was the plan. He agreed to this… this wouldn’t be like with Ronan, with the power stone. Strange was sure… _

_ He glanced at Stark and Rogers quickly… their eyes were closed; they were already… heading wherever they needed to be, he supposed. He took a deep breath and looked at Strange.  _

_ “Don’t fuck this up, man.”  _

_ “I don’t make mistakes,” Strange answered. _

_ Peter reached out for the green glow of the Eye.  _

And opened his eyes to something poking him in the face. 

“I am Groot?” 

Peter frowned. “Small,” he grunted, still half asleep. “You’re really small, Groot.”

The little tree grinned and poked him again. “I  _ am _ Groot.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. ‘Course you can still take me.” Peter rolled himself up, pulling his thermal wrap a little tighter around his shoulders. He didn’t remember falling asleep by the fire, and now it was just embers dying in the misty dawn. He wondered where Gamora was, a little irritated at being cold… 

Groot plopped onto the ground next to his knee and Peter looked around for anyone else, but they were pretty much alone, except for some noises from the ship. He figured he was left with babysitting duty, as the last one up, and reached for the Zune where he always kept it next to his pillow (or whatever else his head was on when sleeping, wherever he was sleeping). 

Instead, his fingers hooked around the metal band of his old headphones. 

It didn’t register, at first. Reflexively, he tugged until the plastic body of the Walkman jumped into his lap, dragging from the end of the cord. 

Peter was almost a full minute into trying to figure out how to  _ share _ the headphones with Groot, like they did the Zune’s earbuds, before he realized what was wrong. 

He held up the Walkman and looked at it for a second, peering with wonder at the “Awesome Mix Vol. 2” label on the cassette, partly visible through the clear window.

“I am Groot?” Groot looked up at him, eyes wide. 

“Huh?” Peter rasped, absently, then cleared his throat. “No, I just--”

“Ah, finally! Good morning!” 

Peter looked up in alarm, then turned his head to see Ego, trailed by Mantis. His sister looked heartbreakingly demure, head down and hands folded. Ego grinned at him and held a hand out, as if he wanted to  _ hug _ him from twenty feet away. 

Peter choked back a gag and dropped the Walkman, instinctively reaching for Groot and holding him with both hands. Groot whined. 

The arrogant prick didn’t seem to notice Peter’s absolute, crippling panic whatsoever. 

“Sleep well?” Ego asked cheerfully, taking a seat on the log Drax had rolled over to the fire last night. 

“Yeah, fine.” Peter’s voice sounded far more normal than he thought it would. 

“Excellent! Then what do you say we take a field trip?” Ego leaned forward, happily. “Peter. Please. Let me take you to my world. I promise, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen.”

Peter swallowed hard, not realizing how hard he’s started to squeeze Groot until the little guy started squirming out of his grip. He tried to relax. “Um, actually, about that…”

“We talked it over last night, like you suggested.” Gamora walked up behind Ego and Mantis. She watched Peter carefully, taking her eyes off of him only when he gave her a slight nod and Ego turned to hear her address him. “Between Rocket and Peter working, we can have the  _ Milano _ fixed in a couple of days… half a week, at most. We’d be prepared, then, to travel to your world ourselves,” she finished. 

Peter couldn’t help but smile a little. He had some trouble imagining her being so… diplomatic even a few months ago. 

Or was it years? He frowned.  

Ego turned back to Peter. “Why wait? Your friend can work on the ship, and you can come for a visit. Two birds, one stone… I believe that’s the saying, right?”

“We stay together,” Peter answered firmly. There really was no room for negotiation on this point. “Is that a problem?” He glanced up at Gamora. Her expression looked as solid as his voice sounded, even if his heart was pounding against his ribs. 

“Well,” Ego finally answered, clapping his hands to his knees as he stood. “It’s been over thirty years. What’s a few more days?” He glanced at Mantis, who stood as if on cue. “Fix your ship,” he said, without turning back to Peter. “I’ll be in mine. Resting. It is… taxing… being away from home.” 

“Right. Um… sleep tight,” Peter said, trying to sound familiar, friendly. But he watched Ego’s back, willing him to move faster. Away. 

When Gamora finally sat down beside him on his bedroll, Groot immediately crawled out of his lap and into hers, throwing a glare and a low “ _ I  _ am Groot” over his shoulder. 

Peter sighed. “I’m sorry. He’s... not a good man, Groot… and I… overreacted. I didn’t want you anywhere near him.” 

“I am Groot.” 

“I’m sorry I squished you.” 

Groot pushed his lips together in a rough little pout, then nodded once and relaxed. He climbed up Gamora’s arm and grabbed a fistful of hair to steady himself on her shoulder. 

“You remembered?” Gamora asked softly. Her face was open, the way it always seemed to be around Groot. 

Peter remembered this… not being able to tell, at first… how often her soft, happy expressions were really for him, or just by proxy… a side benefit of bonding with Groot. 

But he’d learned over the years. Even she probably didn’t know it yet… but this one was for him. It really did make him feel better. 

“How do you know?” he asked. 

She patted Groot gently with her finger, then looked at him pointedly. “You remembered  _ something _ . You couldn’t understand Groot yesterday.” 

“I didn’t get the impression you really believed me about the deja vu thing.”

“I don’t know what that is.” Gamora pulled her knees up and rested her elbows on them. “But something had you frightened enough to say so… and now you seem to have an idea what. I can at least listen. Then… we can decide whether or not to kill Ego. If we decide that’s what we need to do, better here than his home planet. We have no idea of his defenses…” 

Peter sucked in a breath at the idea of killing Ego. The thought crystallized in his mind… he saw it happen. He knew they’d done it. He  _ knew this _ . 

But--

“Actually… I think we need to keep him alive this time.” 


	2. Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to process.

“What are you doing?” 

“What’s it look like? This is a… fun family camping trip and all, but  _ some _ of us are trying to be prepared for our impending doom,” Rocket answered, without looking up from his gravity mines. 

Peter leaned up against a tree and watched his friend work. 

“What doom, man? Nobody knows we’re here,” Peter said. Groot tugged on his ear from his shoulder and he reached a hand up, gently picking him up and setting him on the ground. He stomped on a couple of crunchy, dry leaves. 

Peter… knew it wasn’t true. That  _ somebody  _ did know they were here. But not who he figured Rocket thought it was. 

His stomach dropped a little, and he pushed back the thought of seeing Yondu again, now that the prospect had really solidified in his brain. Things were still a little--weird. Very weird. And certainly different now, that he--that they, he and Gamora had decided in no uncertain terms that there would be absolutely no separating…  _ this time _ … 

_ This time.  _

Still very, very, weird.

Rocket shot Peter a glare over his shoulder. “Then you’re dumber than you look.” Peter rolled his eyes as Rocket continued talking as he worked. “Only so many jump points near where we dropped off the Sovereign’s sensors. Won’t take them long to narrow down where we ended up.” 

“All the more reason to focus on fixing the ship,” Peter shrugged. “Get out of here as soon as possible.” 

Rocket paused, sitting back on his heels. “Thought you were going off to visit with  _ dear ol’ dad _ ,” he said quietly. 

_ Hope daddy’s not as big of a dick as you, orphan boy. _

Peter winced. “Fuck, no.” 

Rocket turned and looked at him, openly surprised. Peter sighed. “Rocket…”

“No, I get it.” Rocket’s gaze sharpened at Peter’s soft tone. “Don’t leave the klepto alone with the ship, right?”

“Dude, that’s not--”

“Forget it,” Rocket growled. 

Peter found himself growling a little too. “I can’t win,” he mumbled, turning around to walk away. But he stopped, and shook his head, before turning around. “Do you  _ want _ me to go?” he asked. 

“What’s it matter what I want?” 

Peter threw his hands up. “You’d be pissed either way, wouldn’t you? We could go, and it’d be ‘they abandoned me to fix the ship all by myself,’ but we stay, and it’s ‘Shit-lord doesn’t trust me with his ship.’ I mean fuck, man, is there any version of this where I’m not a total dick in your book?”

Rocket raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. He waited a beat before responding. 

“Next time you want to berate me, do you mind watching your language in front of the kid?” Rocket nodded toward Groot, obliviously poking at a glob of sap on a nearby tree trunk. 

Peter sighed. “Are you  _ trying  _ to make everyone hate you?” 

Rocket turned back to his mines. Peter felt a lump in his throat at a sudden feeling of familiarity. 

And the memory of deep pangs of regret. A vivid moment,  _ the first time _ , when he first saw his father’s true intentions, and he was sure he was going to… if not die, then never see his friends, his family again… believing that those very words were the last he’d said to his friend… 

“Rocket... “ he said. “For what it’s worth…” Rocket didn’t look up. Peter knelt down and picked up Groot. “Believe me or don’t, but… if you are… it’s…” He stopped. “It’s  _ not working _ .” 

Peter thought he saw Rocket’s ear twitch before he turned and headed back toward the ship. 

* * *

Gamora eyed Nebula warily.

_ “And maybe… you should try talking to your sister,”  _ Peter had said, earlier. Not quite… easily. But with… intimacy. Trust.  

It… haunted her, in a strange way. How he had referred to her. Just yesterday, Nebula was “an evil super-villain” and now… she was “your sister.” And it was not sarcastic or disingenuous (as he sometimes was)… it was  _ sincere _ . 

And Gamora was  _ confused _ . 

Nebula sat on the broken deck of what was left of the  _ Milano’s _ crew quarters, wrists still bound in front of her, watching Gamora cautiously, while putting on airs of lounging without a care. 

_ “Why do you think she hates you?” Peter asked.  _

_ “Because I betrayed Thanos…” Gamora answered. Wasn’t it obvious? Peter frowned and shook his head.  _

_ “But she hates Thanos as much as you do. Why should that matter?”  _

_ Gamora opened her mouth to answer, but stopped short. Peter raised an eyebrow.  _

_ “Have you ever asked her?” _

_ “It is difficult to hold a conversation when trying to kill one another, Peter.”  _

_ He tilted his head. “Fair point. Okay… Do you  _ want _ to kill Nebula?” _

_ Gamora froze mid-breath, before sighing out a quiet. “No.”  _

_ “But you hate her.”  _

_ “I--” _

_ “You fight because you think she’s trying to kill you--and, yeah, she is… and you hate her because... she’s given you lots of reasons to, I’m sure… but you also don’t want to kill her because you love her, right? So maybe…” Gamora listened to him and watched him pace, talking as if to himself in a rambling, thinking-out-loud kind of way.  _

_ “Maybe if you keep thinking that she’s only about this hate-and-murder thing, and it’s only that simple… while for  _ you _ it’s a lot more complicated… you’re really not giving her enough credit.” Peter stopped and nodded to himself, looking down at his feet as if for affirmation, then up at Gamora. _

_ She glared at him for a moment, crossing her arms.  _

_ “Are you gonna stab me?” he asked.  _

_ Gamora set her jaw, then let her face soften, letting out a long breath and dropping her arms to her sides, grabbing one of her elbows uncomfortably. He seemed to relax.  _

Gamora crouched down and stared at Nebula who rolled her eyes, leaning back against the bulkhead. “What?” Nebula groaned. 

Gamora sighed. “I hate you.” 

“I hate you, too. Just felt like comparing notes?” Nebula said, leaning forward a little. 

“I hate you… because…” Gamora trailed off and looked away, out the open gaping hole in the back of the ship.  _ Because I love you, and you caused me pain. Because I loved you, and I thought you loved me… but you did not love me enough to leave Thanos’ side when it really counted, to fight against him with me… I hate you because… because you were weak…  _

Why couldn’t she say it? 

She glanced back at Nebula who scoffed. “Coward,” she murmured, shaking her head, and drawing her knees up. Gamora didn’t disagree. 

She looked at her sister. 

“Why do you hate me, Nebula?” 

Nebula narrowed her eyes. “You really want to know?” 

_ Have you ever asked her? _

Gamora nodded. “Yes.” 

* * *

Mantis had only rarely been in the presence of so many beings at the same time before.

Some band of bounty hunters or another, bringing one of Ego’s progeny. Sometimes they came alone, like the blue Ravager always had when she was a child. Usually they didn’t. 

And when they came, she usually wasn’t present. Or relegated to a corner of whatever Ego had designated as the receiving area for a particular offspring. It was so unusual, for her to be here. Away from home, and with these people. And so unusual, for him to leave his planet, to fetch one himself. 

Perhaps that was really all that explained it. Her being here. Her purpose was, after all, to help him sleep. And he did not often leave his world anymore. 

And as she had fulfilled her purpose for the moment, she mused, and her master was sleeping peacefully aboard his vessel. Perhaps… it would be… permissible… for her to… socialize? With the others? He did not seem to object the night before, when they shared a meal… 

Though, if she was very truthful with herself, Mantis understood very well that her master was seeming to behave in a certain manner for his son. Peter Quill and his friends seemed to be welcoming sorts… and may not have taken it well if he had reprimanded her in their presence. 

But still… they were present. And her master was asleep. 

Mantis relaxed just a little, sitting forward on a tree stump and enjoying a light breeze. She rested her elbows on her knees and propped her chin on her balled up fists. She thought of the “practical joke” Drax had played last night and smiled despite herself. 

She liked them. 

A sick feeling roiled in her stomach and Mantis frowned. Her face grew hot and had she been touching another, she realized, she would have recognized the feeling as  _ guilt _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sticking with it! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Southern Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion.

“What are you doing?”

Drax did not need to look up from his work to know that the strange bug-child had approached. Tentatively. He paused, and nodded for her to sit. 

“I have few skills to contribute to the repair of our ship, so I am preparing my blades for battle, should they be needed.”

“Oh,” Mantis answered. She was curled in on herself, sitting with her knees close together, and leaned over them to examine his motions, perhaps a little too close, as he honed the edge of one of his blades with his whetstone. “How do you know when it is sharp enough?” 

“A blade can always be sharper.” 

“Oh,” Mantis breathed. 

And Drax’s hands stilled and his breath caught. For the briefest of moments, he felt the presence of his daughter at his side, watching him perform this very act, with rapt attention, absorbing every motion he made, so that she could one day perform it herself. 

“Never wield a dull blade,” he instructed Kamaria, sagely. “It is both clumsy in combat… and dishonorable.” 

“Dishonorable?” Mantis asked. Drax looked over at her, swallowing down his disappointment at his… lapse. 

“Yes,” he said, resuming his work. “When facing a worthy opponent, a warrior should respect his foe. A dull blade shows a lack of respect.” Drax glanced at Mantis, surprised to see her still paying close attention. “And inflicts undue suffering,” he concluded. 

She nodded, seeming to understand. 

Drax felt a small, warm hand gently lay on his shoulder. He felt it begin to tremble. 

He stopped and listened to the leaves rustling in the wind and the sound of Mantis sniffling quietly beside him, and for reasons he decided not to dwell on, he thought of sitting in the woods behind his home, with a  _ knowledge  _ that Hovat was in the house and Kamaria was practicing her hunting skills on some small rodent, as he waited for her to return to him to show her how to properly clean her kill. 

And while he waited, he relished the peace of it. 

“I am sorry,” Mantis whispered. Drax had entirely forgotten that she was there. He turned his body to face her, and she lifted her head. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, as she lifted her hand away from her shoulder. 

“What did you do?” he asked. He was curious, not angry. He still felt some of the peace from the forest… but… suddenly felt its loss, desperately. 

“I… felt… what you felt. Your… love…” she stumbled. 

“How is this possible?”

“I am an empath… I feel feelings. When I touch someone, I can… feel what they feel. I am sorry… I did not wish to... “ Mantis’ face crumbled and she looked away from him. “I should have asked your permission.” 

“Yes,” Drax sighed heavily, setting down his blade and looking out at the trees. 

“This forest... “ he said, finally. “Is not so different from where I first taught my daughter to hunt.” He smiled to himself, as he felt Mantis start to relax. “You remind me of her.” 

“I do?”

Drax nodded, considering how very  _ young _ she was. Kamaria… when her life was taken by Ronan. 

“She was… young. Innocent. As are you, I think,” he said. “With... much to learn.” 

Mantis slowly raised her hand, hovering over his arm. He nodded, and she touched her fingers to his skin. 

* * *

_“Southern Nights”_ _was playing._

_ Peter shook his head, but the music didn’t go away. He looked around, confused, but no one else seemed to hear anything.  _

_ Gamora was filthy. Exhausted. But she glanced over at him. “Peter?”  _

_ “Huh?”  _

_ Thor followed her gaze and Groot tilted his head. “You okay?” she asked.  _

_ “Yeah, fine.”  _

_ Gamora opened her mouth, but behind Peter, an orange swirl of light began to expand, and instead, she put her hand to her sword and got to her feet. Peter, Thor and Groot did the same, as Strange, Stark, Rocket and Mantis breathlessly scrambled through the portal.  _

_ Peter took a step forward and looked around, impatiently. “Wait. Where’s Drax?”  _

_ He pushed down a lump of dread creeping up his throat and instinctively sought out the comfortable feeling of his blaster, snaking his hand down to his hip as he glared at Stark. Tony shook his head.  _

_ Mantis took a step toward him, sniffling quietly.  _

_ “Quill, he--” Rocket started, his voice low. Like when he talked about Yondu, sometimes.  _

_ “You left him,” Peter breathed. Mantis hugged herself.  _

_ “He was dead, Quill,” Stark said, retracting his gauntlets, his only pieces of active armor. “We were made. We were okay, taking out those… alien… things…”  _

_ “The Outriders…” Thor supplied.  _

_ “Yeah, but then this bitch with a spear showed up…” Stark continued. Peter looked over at Gamora who looked like she was going to either cry or be sick.  _

_ “Proxima,” she whispered.  _

_ “He went out fighting, Quill,” Rocket said, before walking past them and deeper into the Sanctum where he’d stashed some spare parts collected from the rubble outside. “Bought us time to get out.”  _

_ Peter dropped back down into his chair at the ancient wooden table and half tuned out the conversation that continued around him, barely able to hear it anyway, over music still playing.  _

_ He was aware of Mantis sitting down next to him, reaching out a hand to touch him, then taking it back and turning to Gamora instead.  _

_ “What about the Mind Stone?” Thor asked. Nobody answered right away. But eventually, Strange pulled a chair out and sat down, too.  _

_ “We were too late for Vision,” he said.  _

_ Peter was vaguely aware of Stark pacing behind him.  _

_ “Southern Nights” had started over again.  _

_ Peter looked up across the table and saw Strange turning his gaudy amulet over in both hands, staring at it intently. “I think it’s time we consider something… drastic,” he said.  _

_ Peter ran his hand over his face, thinking it was a little late for drastic. Too late for Drax. Too late for Xandar. Too late for Asgard. Almost too late for Earth…  _

_ “If you had something in mind, you could have led with that,” Gamora mumbled. Peter smiled numbly.  _

_ Strange sighed. “Messing with time is kind of a big deal. There are consequences. This is last resort territory, here.”  _

_ The table collectively stared at Strange.  _

_ The only sound was “Southern Nights”  _ still _ playing. And the sound of blaster fire, getting louder as it seemed to get closer.  _

_ Peter frowned and looked around. That didn’t seem-- _

He sat up too quickly, blood thundering in his ears and momentarily dulling the sound of Rocket’s comm receiver. Gamora looked over at him from her spot, propped against one of the bulkheads across from Nebula, who was starting to wake up. Drax was still snoring on a pile of blankets off in a darkened corner, and Groot was peeking out toward the woods. 

Rocket started to hum along with the strains of his favorite song on the receiver. The sounds of weapons fire echoed from the device and from the forest. Gamora scrambled to her feet. 

“Wait,” Peter said. Groot turned around and looked at him, his eyes wide with concern. Gamora stopped and waited for him to get up. He holstered his weapons, shrugged into his duster, and moved quickly toward the opening at the aft of the ship. She fell into step at his side. 

He stopped and held up his hand. “Let me take care of this,” he said. Gamora gave him a wilting look of disbelief. 

“What?” she said. “No. In fact--” she turned back to the ship. “Drax!”

“No, I’m serious, Gamora.” Peter grabbed her arm and she spun around. “It’s not the Sovereign. Those are Ravager weapons.” 

“So? They’re trying to kill us too.” 

“Yondu won’t hurt me.” 

Gamora raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not,” Peter answered, as seriously as he could possibly muster. The sounds of gunfire were joined by the dull, subsonic vibrations of gravity mines and Peter walked away. 

“Peter!” Gamora called after him. 

“Trust me!” he called over his shoulder, before breaking into a run.

* * *

“Maybe it’s time for some new leadership,” Taserface spat. Yondu narrowed his eyes, his arrow silently  _ present _ next to his ear, ready to strike. All it needed was his order. It positively twitched, like it knew what was coming.

“Fellas... surely there’s a peaceful solution, here. Or maybe a not so peaceful one. Preferably one where I’m standing over there,” the rat said, his hands still kinda up, but a little less scared than he probably should have been. 

Yondu’s lip curled. 

He scanned his periphery. His boys, the ones who hadn’t been taken down by the rat’s traps, anyway, had their sidearms out and pointed at each other. He reached out with all his senses, poking just a bit at the impulses of his crew, marking friend and foe for his weapon, before tugging his lips togeth--

A blaster shot pulsed blindingly through the dark, and for a second, Yondu thought  _ he’d _ been shot. 

But by the time his eyes adjusted to the dark again, he saw Taserface fall, his face even uglier, if that was possible. About half of it was gone. The body crumpled, and the rest of the crew looked from what was left of the mutineer to where the shot originated, about thirty feet behind the space he’d left. 

Quill still had one of his blasters raised. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Yondu caught the rat using the distraction to grab for one of the pistols that had been dropped by the men he’d taken down. Yondu whistled quickly, the arrow flying straight for Rocket’s head. He froze, his paws up again, with an exaggerated grimace. 

Quill stepped forward, pulling his other pistol. “That’s enough, Yondu.” 

Yondu sucked his teeth and left the arrow right where it was. Quill stayed right where he was. 

“That so?” He cast a sideways glance at Kraglin, who immediately recovered his focus and aimed his weapon at Quill. The rest of the crew followed, Taserface suddenly completely forgotten. 

“Yeah, that’s so.” Quill lowered his right blaster, but kept his left leveled at his old captain. “We need to talk.” 

“Unless it’s about how yer plannin’ on payin’ yer debts, boy, I don’t see what we gotta talk about.” 

Quill smirked. The  _ I know somethin’ you don’t know _ look. Yondu hated that look. Got real fuckin’ old when the kid was a whiny, spotty teenager.

“Well,” the kid drawled. “We  _ could  _ discuss your unhealthy obsession with Luscious Jackson, but there’s actually something a little more important going on right now.”  _ The hell? _

Without thinking, Yondu’s hand wandered to hover over where he kept the Zune, in his chest pocket. Quill didn’t miss it. Yondu glared. “Whatchu talkin’ about, boy?”

“I told you. We need to talk,” he said. “About my jackass father.”  

Kraglin, Tullk and a couple of other long-timers glanced at Yondu, but didn’t take their aim off Quill. For his part, Yondu wasn’t born yesterday. He knew damn well Quill didn’t know shit about his old man, and he wasn’t about to let the kid go fishin’ in that pond. 

“You’re spoutin’ nonsense, kid.” 

“Really? We’re doing this? After I just ended a fucking mutiny, you’re gonna--” 

“ _ You _ watch yer damn mouth.” Yondu pointed at Quill and took a heavy couple of steps toward the kid, who showed no signs of backing down, his grip tightening on the level, rock-steady pistol. “And there wouldn’t have  _ been _ a fuckin’ mutiny if you hadn’t double-crossed yer own damn crew, boy.” 

“ _ That--”  _ Quill shouted, before his face softened abruptly. Yondu stopped. “That… might… be true.” The kid’s pistol wavered minutely. “But you  _ know _ I…” Quill swallowed hard, then seemed to suddenly realize there was an audience. Yondu stood up a little straighter, and crossed his arms. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Quill said. “About the orb… and a lot of things.” 

Yondu raised an eyebrow. 

He noticed the rat did too. 

It was an odd moment. Weapons raised and pointed at each other, a hair away from opening unholy chaos. 

But it’d been a long time since he’d heard that kinda voice comin’ from Quill. Just the kind of thing that reminded him every so often why… 

“He’s here, Yondu. He found me, and he’s here. I need your help.” 

Yondu’s heart stopped, and his arrow almost fell the meter or so to the ground from where it was about to strike at the rat.

_ He found me _ . Said with the kind of terror he’d tried to stuff down himself for nearly thirty years, trying to never, ever hear those words… 

Peter lowered his blaster, wincing just barely at the muffled sound of a horde of Ravagers tightening their grips on their weapons. But all he did was say, “Yondu.” 

Soft. 

He was. He was fuckin’ soft. 


	4. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu is too old for this shit.

Peter felt a bit like he was going to throw up. 

Different parts of his brain were practically shouting each other down over the perverse relief of seeing his old crew alive and the merits of running away from the many, many weapons pointed in his direction. 

One side of him knew that only two months ago, he’d swindled these men out of a four billion unit score, after convincing them to fight (and for many, die) in battle. For said four billion units. 

And another side had felt just that much…  _ emptier _ for  _ years _ … having lost...

Anyway, the two sides were  _ not _ getting along. 

Peter’s fingers twitched on his blaster, and he looked hard at Yondu, having to try much harder than he’d thought to school his expression to a neat, calm neutrality. The way the captain squinted back at him made him think he wasn’t succeeding. 

He looked for Kraglin in the crowd for a second opinion, but while Kraglin’s weapon was up, he wouldn’t meet Peter’s gaze. 

Finally, a sharp, short whistle broke the silence. Peter’s eyes darted to Rocket, but other than a fading wince, he was fine. The arrow was back in Yondu’s hand. Rocket started inching backward toward Peter. 

Yondu took a deep breath, flared his duster out with his elbows, and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, the arrow still woven between the fingers of his right hand. The Ravagers slowly started to lower their weapons, and Peter took a few steps forward, meeting Rocket just as he reached down for the blaster he’d tried for earlier. 

“Well…” Yondu sighed, with a ghost of a smile. “Looks like today’s the day I’m officially too old fer this shit.” 

“Cap’n?” Tullk asked. Yondu raised his hand and shook his head. 

Rocket looked up at Peter, then back in the direction of the  _ Milano _ , clearly implying that they should get while the distraction was good… but Peter just looked back at Yondu, to hear what he had to say with the rest of the crew.

“Now that we’re all here,” Yondu glanced at Peter, then around at the circle of ragged faces. Peter realized he was standing next to Oblo and shrugged a quick, silent greeting. The Krylorian rolled his eyes, but didn’t shoot him. 

“I’ll make this quick,” the captain continued. He paced a few steps and twirled the Yaka between his fingers. “I’m out. Retirin’. Go back to the 99, tell Stakar ya ain’t got me hangin’ around yer necks anymore. They might take ya back as a proper clan.” 

Yondu stopped and looked down at the arrow then around at the crew. “Only want two things as uh… severance.” He sucked his tongue, as if thinking long and hard about it. 

“I want the Third Quadrant,” he said. 

Yondu paused and smiled grimly. 

“...And to make sure ya’ll  _ got _ a proper clan to take back to the Table.” His voice was low and had that soulless tinge to it that had always made Peter look at him a little bit differently for a while afterward. He swallowed hard. 

Peter reached down and touched Rocket’s shoulder, even at the risk of getting bit by reflex. Rocket seemed to have been reading the room too, though, and only tensed. “Don’t move,” Peter murmured. 

“Uh huh,” Rocket nodded

Yondu whistled and nearly half of the Ravagers started running, making themselves easy, stupid,  _ guilty  _ targets. 

_ "I don’t use my head to fly the arrow, boy.” _

Despite the choked-off screeches of the dying men trying to scatter in the woods around them, Peter smiled a little to himself. 

It took just a few seconds, and then the forest went quiet again; even the wildlife stunned into silence for a breath. The only sound was a short, high pitched melody as the Yaka stopped, lazily hovering with a little spin inches from Kraglin’s face.  

Yondu stepped up behind it. To his credit, Kraglin didn’t move, even as those around him cautiously stepped away. Kraglin just tightened his lips, and blinked once, before looking Yondu square in the eye. 

Peter’s mind spun into a slightly panicked chaos. Yondu  _ had  _ to know that Kraglin didn’t mean it. Before, Kraglin had helped Yondu and Rocket escape on the  _ Quadrant _ ; Yondu’d had pretty much no choice but to hear Kraglin’s apology and let him do what he could to try and make it right. But… 

He’d changed it.

Hadn’t Strange said there would be consequences to messing with time? 

Peter lurched forward, heart in his throat. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. He pulled away roughly, grabbing for his blaster, but Tullk backed up with a placating gesture before stepping in again and gripping the back of Peter’s neck lightly. Like he used to when he was a kid, pushing Peter along ahead of him on streets and in marketplaces when they were planetside, so he wouldn’t get lost in the crowd. 

“No matter how many times Quill betrays me,” Yondu said softly. Peter turned his head away from Tullk and back to Yondu and Kraglin. “I protect him.” Yondu nodded at Kraglin. 

“Yer right, Krags. You always stick up for me. You, Tullk, Retch, Oblo…” Yondu looked around slowly. “Mosta the fellas here. Good loyal crew, this.” 

Kraglin stared straight ahead, even as Yondu turned his back on him. 

Peter had a flash of being against a bulkhead on the  _ Eclector _ , the arrow at his throat as Yondu turned from  _ him _ as Kraglin watched. He’d talked his way out of it, but Kraglin… Kraglin was just  _ waiting _ . 

“Fact of the matter is, son,” Yondu said, turning back around to look face Kraglin. “I protect mah boys what  _ need protectin _ ’.” Yondu nodded and slowly sauntered up to the arrow, plucking it out of the air. Just off his shoulder, Peter heard Tullk release a deep, held breath. 

“It’s to yer credit that ya ain’t seen the benefits so much. Ya just ain’t the same level of  _ idjit  _ as him.” Yondu threw a thumb in Peter’s direction. Peter tilted his head and glared down at Rocket as he snorted. 

“I mean, honestly.  _ ‘Course  _ he needed me comin’ after ‘im to pull his ass outta one crisis or another. Kid’s a damn  _ moron _ .” Yondu trailed off as he holstered the arrow and assessed his remaining crew. He pointedly ignored Peter’s glare. 

“Cap’n, I--” Kraglin started. Yondu waved him off. 

“Arright,” Yondu announced. “Like I said, decent crew. Every one of you lot is loyal enough and has somethin’ of a brain. So, there’s that. Kraglin--”

“Sir?”

“ _ Eclector’s _ yours. Take your crew up, release the Third Quadrant and send her down. Pilot can take his pick of the M-ships in the secondary hangar to take back up into orbit. After that, ya’ll can fuck off wherever.” 

* * *

Gamora crept through the woods silently, moving again only after the remaining Ravagers broke away, presumably toward their landing craft.

“Where is he now?” Yondu asked. 

“On his ship. Resting. Or not. Who knows,” Peter answered. “Haven’t seen him all day, actually.” They were making their way back in the direction of the  _ Milano _ . 

“I’m confused,” Rocket interjected, conversationally. “Forgive me if this isn’t important… but what the  _ fuck _ just happened?”

“Rocket--” Peter started. 

“No… no… really, I don’t mean to be rude or, dare I say,  _ indelicate _ … but you just walk up, literally blow some guy’s head off, we stand around and witness bloodbath-by-arrow, and then just… return to our regularly scheduled programming? Don’t get me wrong… I mean, who doesn’t love a nice bloodbath... but…  _ what the actual fuck _ , man?” 

Gamora was positioned well enough, now, to see Rocket turn around, walking backwards in front of Peter and Yondu, waving his arms a little hysterically, before wiping his hand down his face with an exasperated groan. 

“And doesn’t this guy want to  _ kill us _ ?” Rocket concluded, pointing at Yondu. 

“No, he does not want to kill us, Rocket,” Peter sighed. 

Yondu shrugged. “Well, maybe him.” Peter glared, and Yondu raised his hands innocently. 

“What? He’s like… a professional asshole,” he said. 

“So are you!” Peter replied. Yondu shrugged. 

Gamora could relate with Rocket’s sentiment of being confused. 

Peter had been acting strangely ever since his father had arrived. Of course he would be, she had reasoned. It was, as Peter would say, kind of a big deal. But now he was getting involved in Ravager mutinies and ultimately partnering with Yondu as if it was true? That Yondu did not, actually, want to kill him? Despite all evidence to the contrary. 

And how had the Ravagers found them in the first place? 

Gamora had been trying to trust Peter… to follow his lead, especially where this thing with his father was concerned. But if Yondu could find them… even if he were no threat (of which Gamora was  _ not _ convinced), who else could find them as well? 

And, as far as Gamora was concerned, it was only a matter of time before Yondu betrayed Peter’s trust to suit his own needs. He’d done it before, and would certainly do it again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry--A bit of a shorter chapter, but I wanted to make sure to get a post up before the work week. For whatever reason, I really liked playing with Yondu and the Ravagers in this scene, so it ended up growing over pretty much the whole chapter... :)


	5. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Peter and Gamora are a team in any timeline.

_ Peter watched her work for a minute, leaning against the banister at the top of the stairs. When she caught his eye, he nodded over at Mantis, curled up on a big chair by a bookshelf under a ratty blanket.  _

_ “How is she?” he asked, taking a few steps forward. Gamora set down her canteen and bit her lip, pushing both hands down on the table in front of her, between the various weapons and ammunition she’d been inspecting. She’d taken to Terran firearms easily, of course.    _

_ “About how you think,” she said. Peter nodded slowly.  _

_ “She tried to get close to Proxima, put her to sleep. But missed something behind her--Drax took the hit. Things went downhill from there,” she continued. “She blames herself,” Gamora all but whispered.  _

_ “Thank you. For staying with her.”  _

_ “You need to talk to her,” Gamora said, looking up at him as he stopped beside her.  _

_ “I will,” he said.  _

_ “She thinks you’re angry. That you blame her, too.”  _

_ “You told her that was stupid, right?”  _

_ “Is it? You haven’t said a word to--” _

_ “Gamora.” Peter pursed his lips and looked hard into her eyes until she looked away.  _

_ She took a deep breath and sat down on the dusty old settee she’d pulled over to the table. “So, there’s a plan?”  _

_ Peter sighed and plopped beside her. “I guess. If you can call it that. Though, it’s really more of an ‘oh, shit, we’re all gonna die, so what do we have to lose?’ sort of plan.”  _

_ “So… right up our alley?” she said, forcing a lightness into her voice. Peter just leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.  _

_ Gamora pulled close to him and dropped her head to his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his chest. “That was supposed to be funny,” she whispered, soberly.  _

_ “I know,” Peter said. He found her other hand wedged between them and held it tightly, rolling his head to kiss her temple.  _

_ Peter waited, hanging on to a the quiet, peaceful moment just a little longer before-- _

_ “Strange wants to use the time stone to send some of us… back. See if we can’t prevent this shit from happening at all,” he said, carefully.  _

_ He could feel Gamora frown. “How?” _

_ “Well… I guess the tesseract… the space stone, that Thor’s brother had… was actually on earth for a long time… hidden here by the Asgardians with the ancient Vikings. Rogers says that some offshoot of the Nazis found it during World War II and tried to use it without really understanding how… he thinks maybe he can get control of it back during the war, hide it, or something, now that he… knows what he’s looking for.”  _

_ Gamora didn’t say anything, but he could tell by her silence she thought the idea was as flimsy as he did.  _

_ “If he can’t… Tony will get it when the Chitauri attack in 2012, try to keep it from getting back to Asgard somehow, or at least get them to hide it better if they do take it. He’ll also try to do something about the mind stone…” He trailed off, rubbing Gamora’s knuckles with his thumb. “They think all they really need is  _ knowing _ this stuff… that they can just…  _ change  _ things…”  _

_ “Thanos will not be so easily deterred,” she agreed, then sat up, eyes wide with realization.  _

_ “They want you to try the same with the  _ orb _? Peter--” _

_ He shook his head, and sat up straight, facing her and gripping her arm, having an idea where her mind was. Finding the orb and breaking out of the Kyln were how they all met, sure… but stopping Ronan and standing together against him, using the stone… none of them ever said it, but  _ that moment _ connected them, made staying together the  _ only _ possible option for their futures.  _

_ It made them what they  _ were…  _ and to jeopardize... _

_ He could see his own fear of losing that… losing  _ everything _ he cared about, mirrored in Gamora’s face.  _

_ “No… nothing to do with the orb,” Peter said softly. “But… we need a backup. If they both fail here on earth, and… let’s face it…  _ when _ all of this still happens, anyway…” he paused, and rested his forehead on hers, closing his eyes. “You’re not going to like  _ this _ , either.”  _

* * *

Peter checked the clearing, crouching behind a tree trunk and cursing the three full moons in the sky.

Although, stopping to think about it, if Ego was waiting around watching for something to happen, it probably wouldn’t matter if it was pitch dark out. Even if it would have made  _ him _ feel better. 

He waved Rocket and Yondu out toward the  _ Milano’s  _ nose without looking back, then stopped dead at the sound of a whisper-soft whistle. Peter turned, reflexively following Rocket’s aim and searching out the red light trail in the shadows of the trees before catching a metallic glint. 

Peter lowered his blaster. “Gamora?” he hissed. 

“Quill.” 

Peter flinched. “You followed me?” 

“Of course,” she answered. Her sword never moved, raised against Yondu’s arrow hovering a respectful, but still menacing few feet from her chest. 

Despite the situation, Peter smiled a little. “Thanks,” he said. Gamora frowned and shot him a confused glare. Yondu rolled his eyes. 

“For what?” she asked brusquely. 

He shrugged. “For having my back. Thank you.” Gamora nodded minutely, but gave him her painfully familiar  _ “don’t doubt me, you idiot _ ” look. 

Peter stepped toward her slowly, slipping between her and the Yaka. Gamora relaxed slightly, looking over his shoulder at Yondu, before starting to lower the Godslayer. Behind him, Yondu groaned. 

“Aw, son. Fer the love of--” he mumbled, but grudgingly recalled the arrow. 

“You said he wouldn’t hurt you.” Gamora tilted her head in that  _ way _ ... where she was trying to work out the reality in her mind against the reality in front of her. Peter wanted to reach out for her. But instead, he stepped away. Gave her space and looked at Yondu. 

“Yes, I did,” he mused. 

“He threatened you. Outside Knowhere, he beat you. Almost killed you--”

Peter held up a finger. “But he didn’t.” He glanced at Yondu again who stood there looking at Gamora in all his Ravager glory, not a shred of contrition about his person. 

“Look, girlie, I don’t know whatchu--”

“They’re Ravagers, Gamora,” Rocket interrupted. Gamora, Peter and Yondu all looked over at him, leaned up against the trunk of a tree, arms crossed and pistol hanging loosely from one paw. “You saw what happened,” he continued. 

Peter swallowed and found himself looking for some kind of reaction from Yondu, suddenly a little disappointed that what Gamora had said hadn’t drawn out any kind of remorse or apology. After all this time… 

His neck burned, and he realized Gamora was looking at  _ him.  _

“Can’t play favorites. Or you end up not the captain anymore. Right, Mr. Not-captain?” Rocket raised his eyebrows and bared his teeth in a snarling smile at Yondu. 

“Blow it out yer ass, rat,” Yondu growled.  

Peter turned back to Gamora, who seemed to be seriously considering what Rocket said. He held out his hands in submission. “Look, I know you want some answers, and I will explain everything I can in the morning. Let’s get inside…” he glanced between Yondu and Gamora. “Can you trust him that much?”

She hesitated, then nodded, retracting her sword and holstering it. “For now,” she said. 

“That’s all I ask.” 

* * *

“Peter.”

He jolted awake, and Peter whipped his head around to see Ego standing in the hole at the rear of the  _ Milano  _ (which had narrowed significantly thanks to a couple days of repairs, but still). 

His father’s expression showed stern suspicion, rather than the open joviality of the last time he’d seen him. Peter glanced back into the guts of the ship as casually as he could, but didn’t see Yondu anywhere. Hopefully, he’d managed to hide before--

“A ship has landed. Did you call anyone, or should we be concerned?” Ego continued. Peter hastily sat up with a groan. Had to be the  _ Quadrant _ . 

“Yeah,” Peter lied easily, sharing a quick look with Gamora, who didn’t look like she had even tried to sleep. “During the Sovereign attack, we sent out a distress call. One of my old Ravager contacts was in range… it must be them.” 

“And you didn’t let them know you were… no longer in distress?” Ego raised an eyebrow. 

Peter couldn’t help the bite in his reply. “With what?” He gestured around at the beaten up ship. “Comms are fried.”

“I thought you were fixing your ship.” 

“Well, yeah. Work in progress, man.” He glared at Ego openly, for the first time, set on edge by a combination of what Mantis  _ lovingly _ called his ‘morning grumps’ and Ego’s concerning shift in style. He apparently didn’t like the idea of company, and Peter felt a little defensive. 

He and Ego stared at one another for a moment, before Peter threw his jacket off of his legs and rolled himself off the ground. “You know what? I’ll just go let them know that we’re no longer in distress,” he said. Ego looked satisfied. 

“No need for your friends to waste more of their time,” he said with an approving nod.

“Exactly,” Peter agreed, a little over-enthusiastically, as he kitted himself up and grabbed one of Rocket’s short range signal trackers from a pile of salvaged gadgets with a shaking hand. Gamora and Drax got up to go with him, but he waved them off. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he said looking around. He glanced back at where he figured Yondu was hiding and then fixed his gaze to Gamora. “You guys make sure everything’s packed and ready to go. We oughta be ready to head out by nightfall,” he said. Gamora gave a slight nod, connecting with his plans to leave, with or without the  _ Milano _ . 

He grabbed his Walkman and held it for a second, hefting it in his hand, before muscle memory took over, and he clipped it to his belt, hanging the headphones around his neck. Peter looked back and saw Groot waving from the shoulder of a very annoyed, yet oddly okay-with-it Nebula. 

Peter waved back and strode past Ego, checking the treeline for signs of the  _ Quadrant _ , then turning to the signal tracker to find the landing site using its ID tags. 

* * *

It didn’t take Peter nearly as long to find it as he thought it would. Whoever flew it down to the surface parked it on nearly the same spot as the shootout last night, which made a weird sort of sense.

He made a quick inspection around the starboard side, checking the hangar. The pilot seemed to have already left, which was just as well. If it was someone Ego had met at some point in Yondu’s past… deliveries… that would not be good. 

Peter hit the gas on his boots and jumped up into the open hangar. He looked around, eyeing the empty M-ship berths. “Anybody here?” he yelled. 

He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, instead heading toward the bridge, and starting the pre-flight procedures. The ship was powered down completely by whoever left it, so even if they weren’t taking of  _ right now _ , it would need time to prep. Peter ran through the steps on autopilot, realizing after a few minutes… 

The  _ Milano _ was special. But for four years now, the  _ Quadrant  _ had been home. And even before that… it had been part of the  _ Eclector  _ and… 

Peter squinted out the front viewer, stepping closer to one of the pilot stations to see better through the glare from the morning sun. “What the fuck…” he murmured, then powered up auxiliary controls and lowered the ramp to the cargo bay. 

He ran down to the cargo bay in time to see Yondu and Drax carrying packs of gear up the ramp, followed closely by Gamora, Nebula, Rocket and Groot. Mantis tentatively brought up the rear, encouraged up by a gentle smile from Drax as he set down his bags. 

“What the hell--” Peter started. 

“We’re leaving. Now,” Yondu interrupted, rushing past him toward the bridge. 

“What?”

“Did you not wish to leave?” Drax asked. 

“Well yeah, but where’s the fire?” Peter squeaked. Drax opened his mouth, but Rocket poked him in the leg and shook his head. 

“Ya started the pre-flight, right?” came Yondu’s voice from the corridor. Peter rolled his eyes. 

“Yes!” he shouted back, then looked at Gamora. “What happened?” he asked. 

“Ego went to his ship to rest. Mantis came to us, concerned about his… attitude today. We agreed that we should use the opportunity to leave,” she said. 

Peter ran a hand through his hair, thinking things through. This was just as well. This was the point, the plan, anyway, right? Don’t kill him, stay away… live to kick mad titan ass another day. 

“Right. Okay.” Peter nodded and turned to head toward the bridge. 


	6. Moonage Daydream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shift in perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of violence in this chapter as there is some up close ass-kicking. I would call it canon-typical, but... it might be just slightly more "Deadpool" than "Avengers."

 

_ Proxima slashed at Nebula, the tip of the spear sparking through the malleable metal sheath of her prosthetic with a scream that clashed with her pained and angry cry.  _

_ Nebula flung herself forward with the charged short-staff in her right hand, bringing it down toward Proxima’s extended arm. It didn’t do much, and before Gamora could get there, Proxima’s spear made short work of what was left of Nebula’s left arm.  _

_ It was a calculated sacrifice. Nebula spun and pulled her left foot under Proxima’s ankle, using the weight of her momentum to try and leverage the larger daughter of Thanos to the dusty ground, her staff sparking against Proxima’s armor.  _

_ Gamora pulled her sword down through the head of an outrider and twisted away from the lunge of another, spinning back and rending Godslayer up through its underbelly and out through its back, cleanly severing its spine. It dropped to the ground in an uneven cloud of dust, as its viscous blood spattered up and weighed the gritty remains of Xandar’s surface back down.  _

_ With that kill, she could finally take a breath, before turning back around and sprinting toward Nebula. Her sister’s attempt to grapple and wrest the spear away from Proxima had failed, weakened by her loss of an appendage. Proxima had wrapped herself around Nebula’s back, holding her immobile with the shaft tight at her neck.  _

_ Nebula roared, glaring back and Proxima’s dispassionately focused face and Proxima’s lips just puckered more, pouting outward with effort and the slightest puff of breath as she held fast. Nebula kicked back at her knees, and Gamora thought she could see an inkling of panic, as she nicked her chin up, sliding to the ground as Nebula kicked both legs up, letting her stronger enemy take her weight.  _

_ Gamora extended her sword, letting the tip snag at Proxima’s armor, just above the ankles. The metal shell around her legs was almost as strong as the Godslayer, but the force of Gamora’s momentum and the strength of her grip pulled the sword through enough to cause some damage. Proxima swayed, sliding one damaged leg back as if it would save her--then dropped.  _

_ Nebula twisted in her grip, reversing the hold and pinning her foe beneath her own weapon as Gamora dug a toe and her sword into the loose, grainy soil and pivoted out of her slide.  _

_ The same sword that once killed untold numbers in Thanos’ name. That had once hacked at Groot’s arms on Xandar. That had attacked the same sister that she now defended. That had destroyed those who threatened her family before such treacherous thoughts could be allowed to bear fruit-- _

_ This same sword slid through Proxima Midnight’s neck with a silence so deep, that despite the almost forgotten din of battle elsewhere, the sound of Proxima’s head rolling once, twice, and stopping against the unevenness of her helm, would have been nauseating… had it not been so satisfying.  _

_ Somewhere deep in her mind, where she disappeared to sometimes to separate herself from evils she still, after all this time, could not countenance… she remembered a moment on Xandar a long time ago.  _

_ Telling Drax that his wife and daughter could rest well. Knowing that they have been avenged.  _

_ And yet…  _

_ Something flickered on the edge of her perception, and Gamora turned at a distantly familiar sound on the breeze. Staccato and high pitched, it sounded like a whistle, but Kraglin was nowhere near Xandar, left behind on the Quadrant to follow through normal space when they’d jumped here with Strange.  _

_ But against all the facts she knew were true, the Yaka arrow flew past her, leaving a vibrant trail of red as Yondu stalked along, passing by flanked by Rocket and Drax, as his arrow cut through a group of outriders that she  _ knows _ had not been closing on her seconds ago.  _

_ Yondu nodded at her and kept walking, making his way toward a melee near a downed M-ship, and for the first time, Gamora noticed the slight darkening of the sky and the sound. It should have been familiar, having spent so much time on the  _ Milano _ , but with  _ so many _ craft in the air, the pitch and hum of the engines blended together into such a wild cacophony that Gamora had dismissed it as almost a natural phenomenon of the dying world.  _

_ Or must have--or had it not been there a moment before?   _

_ She looked down at Proxima’s corpse.  _

_ And saw the head of Corvus Glaive at her feet.  _

_ Gamora looked up at Nebula, mouth gaping, but Nebula didn’t seem to notice (or care). She picked up both short-staves, with both of her intact hands, and skulked after Yondu to go pick another fight, no doubt.  _

_ She closed her eyes just for a second, trying to right herself and correct her heading.  _

_ “There are consequences,” Strange had said.  _

_ She realized the thrum of the M-ships, the Ravager fleet had died away. She opened her eyes, and looked down.  _

_ Gamora prodded Proxima Midnight’s head with the toe of her boot and swallowed hard, eyes narrowing in the direction of the Sorcerer Supreme. _

“Gamora.”

She’d been staring up at the sky. Standing just outside the ship’s main hatch and staring up at the sky. So lost in thought, that she nearly pulled a knife on Drax--

Gamora spun around and looked him over carefully, pushing down an inexplicable feeling of dread that was so strong that her hands itched to grip his arms and make sure he was really standing there. 

Instead she nodded and cleared her throat gently. 

“What is it?” she answered. 

“Yondu has had his comms unit off,” Drax stated, crossing his arms. Gamora raised an eyebrow. 

“So? That was smart. Can’t have Ego hearing it and finding him here.”

“While it was off, his first mate has been trying to reach him.” 

“Did Peter get to the ship okay?” Gamora asked. Drax’s face seemed to darken. “What?” she asked. 

“The Ravager is asking where would be a good place to land.” 

Gamora’s heart dropped and her legs were suddenly moving, propelling her around the aft of the  _ Milano _ and out toward the clearing where they’d eaten and camped--

Where Ego’s ship once sat, was now only a crater of loose peat and soil tamped down by its weight. She looked around frantically, as if perhaps she’d  _ misplaced _ it, or perhaps Mantis or Ego were simply walking around somewhere, the ship having been moved… 

But really the only thing on her mind came out as a whisper as Drax caught up to her. 

“Where’s Peter?”

* * *

Peter entered the bridge to find Yondu already at one of the pilot stations, picking up the pre-flight sequence about where he left off. He glanced over at Yondu, then made a beeline for the cargo bay controls, checking the monitors to make sure all people and cargo were loaded and clear before raising the ramp and starting the bay doors sliding closed.

“Where we headin’?” Yondu asked, flipping up the thruster toggles and lifting off without looking back at him. 

“You know where Ego’s planet is?” Peter asked, nodding at Gamora and Rocket as they wandered in. 

Yondu paused, then-- “Yeah,” he grumbled.

“Anywhere but there.” 

Yondu seemed to freeze at that and pulled his hands down into his lap. Peter looked at him, puzzled, then started toward the other pilot’s station to take over, suddenly feeling an odd sense of urgency well up in his gut. 

“Dammit, son…” Yondu sighed. “I’m so…” He slowly rose from his chair, shaking his head.   _   
_ _ “Disappointed _ ,” he concluded, mournfully. 

Peter stepped back at the word and the tone, his breath catching. Gamora came up next to him and touched his elbow, first in what felt like a supportive gesture, but when he looked at her, her face was blank. 

And she started to crumble.

He recoiled as she almost too slowly turned to coarse sand that dropped soundlessly into a pile at his feet. 

Peter didn’t look around. 

He didn’t need to see the others. He’d seen it plenty of times. He’d had this  _ nightmare _ so many times, after watching Ego’s face collapse, feeling his human form  _ disintegrate _ between his fingers. Peter’s rotten brain had spent weeks… months… even the occasional night years later, imagining up the same fate for Rocket, for Gamora, Drax. Yondu. Peter grit his teeth and clutched at the headrest of the nav station seat, until that too disappeared. 

And he stood alone. 

“I had hoped that this time, knowing what you know, you would see for yourself, really _ understand  _ the beauty, even the necessity, of my-- _ our _ \--purpose, son.”

As he spoke, Yondu...  _ became  _ Ego, melting away, and rebuilding into his own body. 

_ I tried so hard to find the form that best suited you. _

Peter shuddered. He wrapped his fingers tightly around his blaster grips. He  _ knew  _ it wouldn’t help, but the weight of his pistols… it was  _ something. _

“...Understand that _life_ …” Ego leaned carelessly against what was now the smooth, bright white wall of _his_ ship. “That piteous thing called life is really nothing but _death_ and _futile_ struggle and suffering... and only **_we_** have the power to clean it all away…”

Ego pushed off the wall and gripped Peter’s shoulder. “No good, no evil, none of  _ Thanos’ _ deluded ideas of  _ balance _ or selfish desires…” Ego looked at him imploringly. “ _ Just peace _ .” 

“ _ This _ time,” Peter whispered, frozen where he stood. “ _ How-- _ ”

Ego smiled and shrugged. “I’m a  _ god _ , Peter. And you are my  _ son _ . I knew exactly who you were the moment you arrived. Interesting, though… I figured you’d had your fill of messing with infinity stones,” He said, so flippantly, like it was this terribly unremarkable thing. 

Peter closed his eyes and tried to breathe. He should have factored that in. Ego had known things before, too, and why hadn’t it clicked? Playing catch, his mother’s favorite song, the old magazine clipping in his pocket… all things his father  _ used  _ to… 

He should have been more  _ careful _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for letting me know that you're still along for the ride! Your encouragement means so much!


	7. Yet So the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sibling drama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience between updates! I so hope this chapter isn't a disappointment after the wait!

“Mantis, if you would, please?” Ego said, before turning his back. 

For just a second, Peter was insulted by how little a threat he was, as far as his father was concerned. But a greater, more honest part of himself quickly took over and convinced him that Ego was probably right. To be completely unintimidated by Peter.

This idiot who’d fallen for his bullshit all over again. It was almost funny. 

If it wasn’t so terrifying. 

Peter swallowed hard and turned around slowly. Mantis hugged the wall, her chin almost down to her chest and eyes downcast. Her hands were clasped near her waist, like she used to do.

_ “You should talk to her… she thinks you blame her…” _

He saw Gamora’s face, deceptively calm over her grief for losing Drax… her voice… God, he never did talk to Mantis. Never made things right with her. 

And here she was, moving closer, face pinched with regret. Even such a short time with them on Berhert had shown her something different, and already she knew how wrong this was--how wrong  _ Ego _ was--but what could she do? 

Peter’s chest ached at her small, whispered “I’m sorry.” She stopped, hand hovering in front of her. 

He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder at Ego. He wanted to fight. He wanted to do  _ anything _ to  _ not _ just feel like he was giving in, but Ego turned his back because he knew, just as Peter did that there  _ was _ nothing to do. The ship  _ was Ego _ . There were no controls to take even if he could incapacitate his father. No way to steer back to Berhert or anywhere else. 

And Mantis? 

She closed her eyes, and reached her hand toward his forehead. 

And Peter leaned forward and embraced her. He hugged her tightly, wrapping his hand around the bare skin of her upper arm. 

“It’s not your fault,” he whispered into her ear. 

He held onto her as she sniffled, almost silently, then croaked out the word, “Sleep.”   
  


* * *

 

_ "I don’t think I ever thanked you. For telling me about the Chitauri… when… you know.” _

_ Gamora wrinkled her forehead and rolled over, resting her cheek on her hand. Peter was still staring at the low ceiling over the narrow bunk they often shared on the  _ Milano _. She slid her hand over his t-shirt to rest in the middle of his chest. His heartbeat was finally starting to slow down. _

_ “Why do you think you have to thank me?” _

_ He turned his head toward her, making an expression with his eyebrows that would have been a shrug with any other part of his body. “I know you don’t like to… share stuff. From when you were with Thanos.  _ And… I _ didn’t really take it well. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” _

_ Gamora nodded slowly. Peter looked away, down at her hand on his chest, and brought his own up, wrapping his fingers lightly around her wrist. _

_ “You probably could have kept it to yourself. I never would have thought you knew anything about earth at all.” _

_ “Peter--” _

_ “I’m just saying… I’ve known a lot of people who would have just kept their mouths shut in that same situation. Especially after everything…” he closed his eyes and shook his head. “That fight we had and the things I said… and then all the stuff after… I mean, it was a shitty time. Nobody would have blamed you for not piling more on.” _

_ Gamora remembered that fight on Ego, before all hell had broken loose. How she had been the one to bring up earth… and the way he responded. Then thinking about it later… those sleepless first nights on the  _ Quadrant,  _ and… _

_ “That was  _ why _ I told you,” she whispered.   _

_ He looked back over at her face, meeting her eyes in question. Gamora shifted her hand and locked her fingers between his, resting both of their palms on his chest. _

_ “A lot happened,” she said quietly. “And after…” she sighed. Peter squeezed her fingers. “And Yondu  _ died _. He  _ died... _ without having told you… so many things that you needed to hear.” _

_ Gamora felt him swallow hard. Even after so long, he still struggled. _

_ She hated that. Not that he felt the emotions… that was something she loved about him. But that they were so  _ conflicted _. That with all the things left unsaid and undone, the blame she knew Peter still felt, all the regrets he’d never be able to salve by talking it out with Yondu--she hated that he’d probably  _ always  _ struggle. _

_ “I didn’t want that to be  _ us _ someday. I… could have just as easily done to you what  _ he _ did your whole life. That’s exactly who I am… you know this. But I…” she clenched her teeth to hold back a wave of heat building behind her face. _

_ “Thank you,” Peter whispered. All Gamora could do was nod. _

_ She was glad--she’d made the right choice four years ago. As it was, the color had drained from Peter’s face when Thor had told them that he’d been leading his people to Earth when they’d been attacked. That if Thanos was seeking the stones, he knew of at least one other that was there… _

_...And that with the Tesseract, the space stone, now in his possession, Thanos could be on earth in the blink of an eye. _

_ Four years ago, she had told Peter that Thanos knew of Terra. That it had defended itself against an invasion of his design, one that she and Nebula had helped to plan. That sooner or later, no matter how much he wished to stay away, if they committed to the path they’d started on… he may have no choice but to connect with his homeworld again. _

_ It had turned into another argument. He didn’t speak to her for nearly a week after, closing himself up in his room with the Zune and coming out only for late shifts on the bridge. _

_ In hindsight, she could have waited--until other, gaping wounds had had longer to heal. But she’d felt so  _ urgently _ that time was no longer a commodity to be wasted. Ever again. _

_ And today, with Thor, she watched him carefully for reaction. First with worry, then with pride, as he worked with the Asgardian to build a plan for regrouping--going to Knowhere, then searching out this… Dwarven forge place. Missing barely a beat. _

_ “I’m proud of you,” Gamora said. Peter looked at her, his face softening into a little smile. _

Gamora sat quietly on a log staring into the dying embers of the fire and occupying her fingers with the fringe at the ends of Peter’s red scarf. It hung long on her, coming down to her knees when she stood… but right now, the bulk of it was bunched up in her lap.

She could feel Nebula staring at her. Nebula hadn’t  _ stopped  _ staring at her since she’d wordlessly undone her sister’s cuffs and gotten to work packing Peter’s bag.

It felt like  _ years _ since they’d really been apart.

_ It  _ had _ been years _ , she had to remind herself.

So she’d packed his bag, making believe that he’d just gone off and forgotten his things and she was going to bring them for him. It made her feel better. Closer.

He’d want his second favorite shirt when he was back on the  _ Quadrant _ . And he’d left without his scarf. And all he had was his duster--he’d want his regular jacket… he didn’t usually like to fight in the longcoat. At least he had his Walkman.

She almost gasped at that thought. Gamora wondered if Peter knew the danger he was in. Did Ego trick him somehow? Did Mantis put him to sleep? Or was he getting through to her? At least he wouldn’t die… she knew that much. And as long as they were on Berhert, they’d know if… anything… else happened… as the landscape nearby was swallowed up. 

Gamora looked down at her hands and took a deep breath, willing Rocket and Yondu to come back with Kraglin. She really wasn’t sure how much longer she could wait. Malleable as time was to her right now, it felt like her greatest enemy.

“Who are you?”

Gamora frowned and looked up, then over at Nebula. She sat, as placidly as was possible for her, and glared, head tilted.

“What?” Gamora asked.

Nebula rolled her eyes. “You heard me.”

Gamora narrowed her gaze at Nebula and clicked her tongue dismissively, then turned away.

Before Gamora could react, Peter’s scarf was pulled from her neck. She growled and sprang to her feet as Nebula backed up, clutching it in her intact hand.

“Nebula, please.”

Her sister scoffed. “You see?” Nebula said. “ _ My sister _ would already have me pinned to the  _ ground _ .” She threw the scarf into the dirt, as if to illustrate her point. “Who. Are. You?” She punctuated her words with a stride forward each, until she had her hand around Gamora’s neck.

Gamora’s instincts kicked in and she grabbed at Nebula’s arm with one hand and for her neck with the other, pushing forward with her body weight to unbalance her opponent.

Nebula growled and planted her feet before wrapping her clawed arm around hers and hooking her elbow tightly, whipping both of their bodies down to the ground and rolling on top of her. Nebula leaned her weight down onto Gamora’s throat and hissed through clenched teeth.

Gamora had a flash of being on the ground, a fight in a cave lit by the blazing wreckage of Nebula’s crashed M-ship.

Nebula had needed to win, then. But right now?

Gamora choked a roar through her constricted airways and pulled her legs up, twisting her hips to the limit of her flexibility. She bucked Nebula up just enough to turn onto her stomach, catching the back of Nebula’s head with her heel and slipping out of the grasp on her neck. She shimmied a few inches, reaching her hand out toward the scarf on the ground and reeling it in with her fingers while she twisted again, hooking her ankles around Nebula’s front and pulling her down to the ground, flat on her back.

Gamora pushed herself up on her hands and knees and spun, launching herself at Nebula as her sister rose to meet her. Gamora had better position and was faster. She whipped the scarf around Nebula’s arms, pulling her hands against her chest and wrapping the fabric around her neck, tightening it just enough. Gamora worked her way around Nebula’s back, fighting against her struggles to get up and free, until she could wrap her own arms around her sister from behind.

“Nebula,” she said.  “ _ Sister _ .”

There must have been the right amount of  _ something  _ in her voice.

Nebula stopped. She stopped struggling and deflated against Gamora. Gamora rested her chin on Nebula’s shoulder and took a deep breath.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said. She could feel Nebula tense. “I am sorry. I’m so sorry, for failing you so many times, Nebula.”

Gamora had a memory of a couple days before. It felt odd… like it was her, but a  _ different _ her, who had talked with Nebula. Or tried to. It was so hard to imagine, now… was this how Peter had felt, when he’d… arrived? Like two different people were in his head?

Gamora sighed and sat back, releasing her sister. “Please try to forgive me,” she said softly to Nebula’s back.

Nebula sat still for a moment, then pulled the scarf slowly away from her neck and arms, seeming to simply hold it. She did not look back at Gamora.

“Who are you?” she finally breathed. It was not angry or accusatory this time. Simply a quiet, genuinely curious question. Gamora shook her head.

“I--”

“Everything alright, ladies?”

Gamora looked over at Rocket, flanked by Yondu and Kraglin, and simply nodded silently, before returning to watch Nebula carefully. Nebula’s shoulders sank, and she rolled herself higher onto her knees before standing. She turned to walk toward the  _ Milano _ , pausing only long enough to drop Peter’s dusty scarf into Gamora’s lap before striding to the ship.

Rocket followed her, mumbling about making sure Groot hadn’t killed Drax. Or vice versa.

“She gonna be a problem?” Yondu asked, hanging back. Gamora shook her head.

“No. No, I don’t think so.” She stood up, shaking out the scarf and draping it back over her shoulders.

“Are you?”

She looked over at him to see Yondu staring, red eyes narrowed, a finger pointing at her with just a hint of suspicion.

“What are you talking about?” she asked. He smirked, lowering his hand and crossing his arms.

“Rat says you been actin’... uh. What’d he say, Krags?”

“Sketchy, sir,” Kraglin nodded.

“Thassit. Sketchy. Quill, too. Thinkin’ about it, can’t say I disagree. ‘Course, Taserface was a bastard deservin’ of a headshot, but it’s a rare thing to see Quill firin’ lethal out the gate like that. Not to mention his actually seemin’ happy to see me… kid was practically  _ affectionate. _ ” Yondu made a show of disgust as he shuffled toward one of the logs, kicking a stone out of his way.

_ “ _ And last night? Girl, you wouldn’t have trusted me to polish yer boots. Today?” He gave her a lopsided grin and tapped his implant. “Somethin’s different. Not sure exactly what it is. But somethin’.”

Gamora watched him carefully for a moment, trying to decide how much was genuine and how much was him bluffing, before ultimately deciding that it didn’t matter either way.

“Are we ready to leave?”

Yondu blinked, then grinned, pushing up from the log with both hands to his knees. He brushed past her a little too close, nudging her shoulder with his, before leaning down to pick up the bag she’d packed for Peter.

“Just gotta load up,” he said. Then turned back, his smile softened. Knowing. “We’ll git our boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song "Different People," by No Doubt. 
> 
>  
> 
> _So different, yet so the same. Two sisters only have their parents to blame. It's rare that two can get along, but when they do, they're inseparable. Such a blessing comes to few._


	8. Running to Stand Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrivals and Departures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't help but feel like this update will be terribly disappointing after such a long wait! But regardless, I hope you're still with me... please enjoy! Working on completing before IW releases. Hoping that RL cooperates, here. Thank you to enigma731 for reassurances and helping me get back on track!
> 
> Chapter title credit to U2.

_Gamora scanned the battlefield frantically as she made her way back to the rear. She kept one eye trained on the red of Strange’s cloak while she sought another glimpse of Drax or Yondu. She was so sure she had seen them… as sure as she was that she had killed Proxima…_

_Only to see_ Corvus’ _dead eyes staring back at her from the ground._

_Her stomach twisted and she sucked in a lungful of stale air, trying to slow her pounding heart._

_Battle was something that Gamora understood. But on this field, it was as if the weapons they bore put them on another level of play entirely. And for just a second, she felt the same wrenching cosmic tug--as if_ existence _itself had joined the fray--that had pulled at her when she gripped Peter’s hand in that purple swirl on Xandar._

_Peter had promised her… Strange’s idea to use the time stone would be an option of last resort… Absolute last resort._

_She saw Stark and Rogers, flanked by Romanoff and Barnes, rush toward a swarm of outriders as if they’d only just arrived… while Strange stood alone, wearing an expression of confused frustration that made her chest tighten. Gamora sped up, pumping against the loose dirt of the hill and cresting it at full tilt._

_She ran into him, barely registering his look of hooded surprise, as she grabbed his collar with one hand and a handful of his cloak with the other._

_“What did you do?” Gamora snarled._

_“They failed…” he whispered, half to himself and half to her, staring out at Stark and Rogers. Gamora tightened her grip but reigned in her anger as much as she could._

_“Of course they did, you idiot. It was a stupid idea,” she said, and pushed him away. Gamora looked around. “Where’s Peter?”_

_Strange looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t know.”_

_Gamora’s eyes narrowed. Without thinking, her hand wandered to her sheathed blade. “What do you mean, you don’t_ know _?”_

_“I mean,” Strange stood up straight and measured his words carefully. “I don’t know… Tony and Steve were back in minutes… It’s fucking time travel, right?” He choked out a harried, defeated laugh and his face twisted into some kind of unrecognizable expression. “But... Something must have gone wrong…” he trailed off, seeming to spiral into a maze of theories, like Rocket when he had some great idea to follow, forgetting everything else around him._

_“What_ exactly _went wrong, Strange?” she prodded, and Gamora was on him again, inches away from his face. “_ Some _thing changed. I…_ saw _things change.”_

_Strange looked up at her. “What? What did you see?” he asked, his voice deep and thick with urgency, seeming to waver between panic and hope._

_“Drax.” Gamora swallowed hard. “I saw Drax. On the battlefield. And… Yondu… he died. Years ago, saving--”_

_Gamora’s heart stopped._

_“He’s dead,” she said. Her eyes met Strange’s and he was clearly forcing himself to stare back at her, despite wanting to shy away. “Peter’s dead, isn’t he?”_

_Finally, Strange blinked and Gamora breathed, stepping back. Her legs felt boneless and Strange reached out for her, grabbing her arm._

_“You sent him back to die,” she choked out, pulling out of his grip and dropping to the ground. “If Yondu lived, then Peter--”_

_“I_ don’t know _,” Strange insisted, crouching to face her. “Anything could have happened. He could have managed to do exactly what he intended, but that changed something else… I just… I don’t know. I can’t know.”_

 _“Well, if he’s dead, that kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” Gamora spat. Strange had the good grace to look away. “You can’t_ use _any powers he gets back if he’s_ dead.”

_Strange looked back at her, brow furrowed in clear confusion. “What are you--”_

_Gamora ignored him, her attention suddenly absorbed completely on the amulet hanging from Strange’s neck._

_"No,” he said, shaking his head as he traced her gaze and seemed to read her mind. "No, it’ll just make things worse.”_

_Gamora took a deep breath. "You think that’s possible?” she asked._

_Strange sighed and looked up, surveying the chaos around them. “It can_ always _get worse,” he said distantly._

_She looked at him. “I need to know.”_

_Gamora watched him tentatively pull his barely shaking hand to the amulet around his neck, then stand slowly. He brought his hands together, forming a symbol with his fingers…_

“Uh… ‘scuse me…”

Gamora looked away from the viewport and Berhert shrinking as they swung around it toward the gravity well of its moon cluster. “What is it, Kraglin?”

“We’ll be jumpin’ soon. Cap’n figured--”

“Any sign of the Sovereign?” she interrupted. Kraglin paused and shifted uncomfortably as she started to move toward him and the hatch he’d just entered through.

“Uh… no… ma’am…”

Gamora snorted. Kraglin raised an eyebrow. “Some of the boys from the _‘clector_ are gonna stay behind, though, keep a lookout. Case they tracked us from Contraxia,” he continued.

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other. “So, uh… I can show ya to the bridge, then?”

Gamora moved past him with a small, tired smile. “I know where it is.”

* * *

Peter woke with a start, sitting up before his eyes were even fully focused. He instantly recognized the feeling of a Mantis-nap and, while that was usually a familiar and welcome feeling of restful healing, this time he had a sense of panic and dread that he couldn’t quite place.

She rested her fingers lightly on his chest in a calming gesture, but his heart continued to race. “Mantis?” he asked, blinking until he could see her clearly against the bright white of the room he was in. She nodded.

“How long--”

“About a day,” Mantis answered softly, sitting back as he shifted on the hard surface to sit up properly.

“Why? What happened?” Peter breathed, searching her face. “Is everybody okay?”

Mantis frowned. “Oh… Your friends were fine the last time I saw them; I have no reason to think that has changed… And… you are also unharmed, I promise! You were only asleep… Ego did not--”

It was like the air was suddenly pushed out of his lungs, like he was knocked on his back and landed hard, unable to catch his breath.

Coming out of it when Mantis put them to sleep always left them a little groggy… making it something they usually only resorted to when injured. Once, Rocket woke up thinking he’d been modified again, when he saw how small Groot was… convinced he had been made to grow into a giant version of himself. It was funny at first… then heartbreaking to see him fall apart when he’d remembered everything.

Rocket tended to rely on good old fashioned drugs from then on out.

Now, Peter patted himself down clumsily, reaching for his guns, only to find himself completely disarmed. His coat was gone, his guns were gone. He reached up to his ear, and felt an empty divot where his mask controller should be behind his ear. Even his Walkman was gone from his belt.

“Just because I can’t be killed by your weapons, doesn’t mean they don’t _hurt_. You’ll forgive me for taking some precautions,” Ego said, shrugging and sitting down on another white surface a short distance across the room.  

Peter blinked and took a deep breath, but ultimately said nothing.

“What, no pithy retort?” Ego grinned. “I’m disappointed. Really. I was looking forward to catching up.”

“Sorry, I’m not in the mood for entertaining,” Peter said dryly. Ego smiled.

“Well,” he said. “That’s fine. We’ve got all the time in the world.” Ego got up and gestured Peter to follow him. Mantis rose but Peter shook his head.

“No,” he murmured. “I don’t.”

“Ah,” Ego said. “That’s right. You’ve got your little… war, was it?” He stopped to look back at Peter with a look of pity. “I can’t help but feel like I mentioned this once before...” He waved and a piece of the wall… bulkhead--so, they were still on his ship--disappeared, letting in bright yellow sunlight.

“We’re beyond such things.” Ego grinned broadly and Peter squinted, covering his eyes with his hand. He looked back into the guts of the ship, then out toward the sunlight, weighing his options.

His first impulse was to tell Ego to go fuck himself and stubbornly stay put, but… then what? Maybe if he could keep him talking, he could at least gather some useful information. Or stall.

His heart jumped into his throat and he swallowed it down.

 _And_ then _what…?_

Peter groaned quietly and heaved himself up, moving to Mantis’ side as his eyes adjusted, then stepped out onto the platform materializing outside the craft.

“Wait… that’s not…” Peter looked out at the landscape, then tore his gaze away, glaring at Ego and resisting the urge to look back out--

“What?” the celestial replied. “Not what you expected?” Peter hated the way he just kept _smiling_ like that. Peter stared, until he couldn’t resist the pull anymore.

It was the smell, really. Like a slap in the face, it woke him up and almost brought tears to his eyes.

The rainbow of alien flora he remembered from last time was gone. In its place was a flat field of tall, light-green and golden grass. It looked all too suspiciously like wheat… and in the distance, a green sea of trees. He could swear he smelled evergreens and hear water not too far away. Real water, where you might even imagine to find bullfrogs and dragonflies… not the freaky colored bubbles that had so delighted them before.

“How--” Peter stammered, then bristled when Ego stifled a laugh and turned to regard him.

“I _am_ the planet, Peter, surely you…” Ego’s smile faded and he shook his head, taking a deep breath. “I really did make a mistake, didn’t I? You are so very, very limited by your humanity, aren’t you? It’s really no wonder you couldn’t understand...” he lamented, his voice almost genuinely sad.

Peter backed away, gripping the front rail as the platform came to a stop at a smaller, less ornate--but still ostentatious--version of the palace while Ego stepped off the platform. Mantis looked at Peter, her gaze lingering, before she followed him meekly. He took one more look at what he couldn’t help but see as almost-forgotten, but suddenly so _familiar_ terran farmland, then made himself follow after her.

Peter moved slowly, his legs heavy, like he was trudging through knee-deep sand. The last time he was in any variation of this building was…

He clenched his jaw, wondering for just a second what it said about him that it wasn’t even his worst memory.

Peter opened and closed his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms. He slowed as he reached the arching doorways, his knees and fingers actually going a little numb as he gripped the gold leafed edge of the wall.

Peter’s body just refused to go in.

He eyed Ego, confidently striding yards ahead of him. He took a deep breath, then turned and walked back out onto the terrace. There had been a fountain here, last time. He vaguely remembered weird flying fish. Now there was an… actually, much more tasteful topiary, ringed by a sculptured bench.

He considered sitting down, but Peter’s muscles felt less weak and noodly with each step he took away from the building. He blew out a long breath and closed his eyes as he stepped up to the banister--a series of thin white cement pillars topped with a thick, gold trimmed polished wooden rail.

When Peter opened his eyes, he could almost imagine he was somewhere else.


	9. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family is a powerful thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long wait. I'm sorry! This is a double-length chapter, though, and I'm going to try and continue to keep them longer from here on out. Thank you for reading and for your feedback! 
> 
> And yes, Infinity War has been released... no this fic will not incorporate it. Sticking to my original outline (which does include a little bit of the crumbs we were thrown in trailers and commercials), so I gotta say now, this is not Infinity War compliant. :)
> 
> Also--TW: This is a fairly Mantis-heavy chapter and, while not explicit as to the abuse, there is reference to her emotionally abusive childhood (and adulthood) and trauma that we know she experienced in canon. And Ego is clearly an abuser and manipulator.

_“Maybe we should call Stakar…” Rocket said. Peter sighed and shook his head._

_“I’m not calling Stakar,” he answered._

_“Why not?” Drax asked. “The fleet would likely be of great help--”_

_“Yeah, so he can blame_ me _when his men start dropping like flies?” Peter shot back. Gamora glanced up at him from her seat at the table. “He already--”_

_“Who is Stakar?” Thor interrupted. Peter stopped, shook his head and opened his mouth to answer._

_Rocket cut him off. “Ravager admiral.”_

_“Space pirates,” Mantis clarified, in an ominous but excitable tone, at Thor’s confused look._

_Peter squinted and winced. “_ Mercenaries _. With a code, man.”_

_Gamora sighed. “But you won’t call them,” she pointed out._

_“Hell, no.”_

_Drax crossed his arms and leaned against the bulkhead, glancing sideways at Thor. “This is hardly the time for your insecurity to stand in the way of--”_

_Peter groaned and massaged his brow. “Oh my_ god _, will you_ stop! _This is_ not _\--_ ”

_“He doesn’t still blame you Peter,” Gamora said softly, stopping him cold with a soft hand on his arm. He swallowed and tried not to look at her, which he knew would shake his resolve. “He probably never did. He was just angry…”_

_“And the last thing we need is an_ angry _Stakar sending a fuckin’_ fleet _of Ravagers out hunting us down if_ Thanos _doesn’t finish the job first,” Peter snapped._

_He sucked in a breath as Gamora pulled her hand away, absently covering his lips with his fingertips as if they could subtly pull the words back in. He sighed, dropping his arms to his sides, and leaning his shoulder against the curve of the bulkhead to look out the small viewport._

_“Maybe it’d be different if Yondu was here,” he said, quietly. “But I’m not him. I don’t have that… history… I can’t_ go _to them and ask…_ this _.” He looked at Rocket, who met his eyes for a second in understanding, before dropping his gaze and nodding once. “We lost--_ Yondu _lost a third of his crew on Xandar. And that was just_ one crew _. I_ know _it was the right call, but… I can’t be responsible for that again.”_

_He felt Gamora hesitantly come up next to him and slip her hand into his. “Am I wrong?” Peter asked her, looking up and searching her face._

_She smiled softly and shook her head. “We’re_ guardians _… not generals. Right?”_

“I wasn’t sure you’d like it,” he heard as Ego came up behind him. Peter forced himself to stay still, relaxing against the railing and continuing to look out at the field as if he wasn’t bothered at all by the other man’s presence. He felt Ego glance at him, staring a little too long, before leaning on one elbow and following Peter’s gaze out at the distant trees.

“Can I be up front with you?” Ego started again, but didn’t wait for an answer. Peter swallowed and looked down at his hands folded on the thick rail. “It’s a relief, really…” Ego continued. “Skipping the whole, uh… how’s it go? Dog and pony show? I suppose you know by now that I’ve welcomed a number of your brothers and sisters home… there’ve always been… _explanations_ to make…”

Peter bit his lip and closed his eyes, shaking his head the tiniest bit. He both embraced and tried to willfully ignore the heat rising to his face. He had a sudden urge to lash out, to latch onto the light that he _knew_ was wiggling around in the depths of the planet, and fill himself up with it, a powerful, satisfying memory of _pounding_ into the jackass’ face with his own power consuming his vision.

But wouldn’t he just love that?

He could see that too… the elation in Ego’s expression when Peter lit up that stupid ball for the first time. Wouldn’t that just be exactly what he’d love to see… Peter following in his old man’s footsteps?

With no bomb to back him up.

“...and as much as I like to make a good first impression… something… _moved_ me to make a few design changes when we arrived. Don’t misunderstand… this wasn’t a snap-of-the-fingers sort of remodel. It did take some time… I’m not _all_ powerful, you know…” Ego had kept talking, and at that last statement, Peter did allow himself the slightest sense of quiet victory.

He smiled minutely. “I know.”

Peter felt Ego shift beside him. “You killed me before,” he stated. “Truthfully? …I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.”

“I wasn’t alone,” Peter said softly, reflexively.

“Care to clue me in on the details?” Ego asked lightly. Peter finally turned and glared.

“What, like you don’t know?”

Ego rolled his eyes, like he was put out by responding to such a _stupid_ question. “If I knew _every_ detail of every timeline in the multiverse, even _I_ would be driven quite mad, son.” He shrugged. “No… I decided a long time ago that much of the, uh… minutia of space-time just doesn't really interest me. I tune a lot of it out.”

Peter glared at him. “Not really expansion-adjacent?” he growled.

Ego smiled and shook his head, waving a finger. “See… I know you mean that as an insult, but I can’t help but find your comprehension encouraging.”

Peter chewed his tongue, a little too hard, then took a deep breath. “Oh, I _understand._ Why do you think we killed you?”

Ego’s lip curled, but other than that, he only nodded and pushed himself away from the banister with his hip. He crossed his arms and strolled back toward the palace. “Come on inside when you’re ready,” he said, not looking back.

“Fuck you,” Peter replied, casually. Ego just waved, either ignorant of the comforting rage finally--rightfully--simmering in Peter’s chest, or making a good show of it.

“Suit yourself. Head’s up, though… Looks like it might hail a bit later.” Ego glanced over his shoulder, then. He wore a smile, but his eyes were dark. “Big, angry hail.”

“Dick,” Peter mumbled, then turned his back on the palace and Ego.

Angry was better than afraid, at least. He ground his teeth and thanked the shithead in a weird way for getting him worked up. He tried not to wonder if it was intentional.

Regardless, his head felt a little more clear; less consumed by the what-ifs of worst case scenarios tinted by past… bad stuff, and more focused on the task at hand. His “little war”... and what exactly he was going to do about it from here.

And then there was the question of when, or if, Yondu would be stupid enough to really show his full hand and let the whole merry band in on where he probably was, once they figured out that he was gone.

Gamora was probably pissed. Peter actually felt a little sorry for Yondu, there.

He glanced up at the foreign-familiar blue sky, as if he'd see the silhouette of the Quadrant breaking through the clouds just because he was thinking about it.

* * *

“How long?”

Yondu looked up from entering the jump coordinates, but didn’t look back. He grunted at the girl.

“Almost 700 jumps. Get comfy,” he grumbled, sitting back to watch normal space shift into the twisting tumult of the Network.

“But how long?” she asked again.

Yondu shrugged. “Pushin’ it? Breaks every 50 jumps, say maybe… twelve hours?”

The girl sucked in a long deep breath through her nose and blew it out, fingers tightening around her own arms, before she finally nodded.

“Really out in the boondocks...” the Rat observed. Yondu sighed.

“Sure is.”

“Seem pretty familiar with _daddy_ ,” the rodent drawled. “Just sayin’...”

“You did hear the part where Yondu was hired to deliver Peter as a child, right, Rocket?”

The green gal stepped up behind his seat and crossed her arms, shooting a glare at the Rat, who smirked at her sideways with a shrug.

Yondu’s eyes narrowed and he glared at his screen. Staring at the destination, the planet “Ego” lit up in big letters, he kinda hoped that just by thinking, he could… blow the bastard’s head off from a distance. Maybe, if he concentrated hard enough…

“Oh, sure…” Rocket answered. “‘Cept, I also couldn’t help but notice the part where he _didn’t_ actually _give_ Quill to the creep, so… I dunno… sort of weird how well he remembers a drop point for a job he never _actually finished..._ like… thirty years ago.”

Yondu pursed his lips and fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. It never did stop the faces from filling up his vision, anyway. The kids. He’d been seeing them a lot more lately. Since Quill left.

“Rocket, can you just let it go?” The green gal--Gamora--said, with startling softness. Yondu looked up at her then.

She was watching him. But where he figured he’d just see suspicion… there was… a look, there, so unfamiliar, it took him a second to recognize it. It was like a slap in the face when he did.

Sympathy.

He shot her his very best menacing glower and she turned away. Yondu didn’t need any of that shit from her. She didn’t know. She didn’t know just how much he didn’t deserve it...

“Let it _go_ ?” The Rat pressed. “Why are you just _trusting_ this guy now?” He sneered.

Gamora shook her head and sucked her lip, like she was thinking hard and fast.

Quill did that sometimes.

Yondu could tell, the second he saw them floating outside Knowhere, that Quill was a sucker for this girl. And he remembered thinking... what an _idiot_ the boy was, believing he might ever have a chance with a girl--a woman--like that.

Yondu’s lip twitched, a little smile sprouting all by itself. Maybe he’d been wrong.

He squashed down the bubble of amusement just as she looked back at him. The sympathy was gone, but she still looked so fuckin’ _sure_ about him, and it threw him off. Yondu wasn’t used to knowing less than the other guy… wasn’t how he operated.

“He won’t let anything happen to Peter, Rocket,” Gamora said, her voice oddly quiet. She was staring at him again, right in the eyes, like she was daring him to argue, but knew… _knew_ that he wouldn’t.

Dammit, if she didn’t remind him of Aleta.

“Uh-huh…” The Rat replied, incredulously. “And you know this _how_ , exactly?”

“He won’t hurt him,” Gamora said again.

“You’re kidding,” the Rat shot back, climbing onto the arm of the nav station seat.

“A true father protects his child,” came the matter-of-fact statement from the rear of the bridge.

The Rat cut off, and Yondu followed his gaze. Gamora did the same, all of them settling on the big guy with the scars, leaning up against one of the consoles and inspecting the edge of a long, curved knife.

The big guy never looked up, seemingly lost in his own brain, even as he shared what seemed to be a totally obvious newsflash. To him, anyway. The twig was sitting by his foot, happily tugging at his bootstraps and being completely ignored.

After a minute that seemed to stretch for hours, Gamora turned back and looked at Yondu. She smiled, and he forgot to breathe. She laid her hand on his shoulder, tentatively, and leaned down.

“He trusts you,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. “Peter… he knows what you did for him.”

Yondu’s heart stopped. How? How could he possibly… How could _she_ …

“Don’t let him down.”

He swallowed hard and nodded slightly, a curt, short motion… but clear. And he found himself leaning back, away from her, even though her touch was light and careful. She pulled away and nodded back.

Fuck.

Yondu felt a smile start to creep across his face.

He liked her.

“What _ever_ , drama queens,” the Rat sighed. “But if we all die, I’m blaming everyone but me. And Groot.”

* * *

“Is he… is he going to just… stay outside?” Mantis asked quietly. It had been a while since Ego came into the palace, leaving his son on the terrace. She had since brought him a cup of hot tea--a sweet, herb-smelling liquid he taught her to make long before she could remember, that he called tea.

He shrugged, lifting the delicate cup to his lips as he lounged on the bright blue settee beside the big window overlooking the river valley. He’d only just finished the new view that morning and seemed to be still enjoying it.

She stepped closer to him, her hands dutifully clasped before her. “Would you like me to bring him inside?”

Ego laughed, and Mantis looked up in surprise. “Master?”

“Master?” Ego smiled. She pressed her lips in confusion.

“Mantis, what did we just talk about on the ship?”

She looked down at her hands, folding them tightly. “I--”

“You didn’t think I meant it.”

Mantis wanted to look at him, to search his face for sincerity… even to touch him and know for certain, but… she looked out the window.

Ego told her, on the ship, while his son was sleeping… when they returned home, that he was making some changes.

That things would look different.

That there had been a planet once--he’d told her about it before--the planet of the one woman he’d really loved, his son’s mother… that home would look more like it, now.

And that things would _be_ different. Now that his son was home. Since he would be _staying_.

Not like the others...

He made changes sometimes. She had gotten… used to… adapting. But things had never changed _so much_ before. Even the air _smelled_ different.

She breathed in the new smell. It was pleasant, but still different. And _different_ was always…

No. Different always meant that she had to be even more the same as ever. Different was unpredictable. Different meant changes to patterns, it meant fear, sleepless nights, new demands--

“Mantis.”

She looked at him. He set his cup down with a soft sigh and stood up, extending his hand toward her, palm up. The gesture was… gentle, and Mantis nearly trembled.

“Come here,” he said.

Mantis moved toward him slowly and took his hand. He lifted her chin, and she felt her antennae start to stretch and glow.

“I told you before, Mantis--”

_“We’re going to be a family now,” Ego said softly. To his son, to her, to himself… Mantis couldn’t tell._

_Ego patted his son’s hand after laying it over his stomach. She tried to discreetly wipe away the tears that had started streaming down her face when Ego’s s--when Peter embraced her. What she’d felt…_

_Mantis had barely exchanged five words with him on the planet, but then he touched her… held her arm, seeking out her skin and_ made _her feel--wanted her to feel--_

 _She shook her head, trying to push it all away. Mantis did not even know him, and she did not_ want _to know him._

_He would only be gone soon anyway. Just like the rest._

_But it lingered. His fear. Terror. Of Ego. Regret. Desperation. For himself. For his friends. Love. For them. For the puppy. For Drax. Friendship. Trust._

_Needy. Clutching love. For the green woman._

_And familial. Protective love. For the little tree._

_And for her._

_Love for her, and she did not understand._

_“Would you like that?” Ego asked, looking over at her. Mantis could only stare at him. He grinned and nodded, like he completely understood her confusion and was even amused by it._

_“Now that your brother is home, there are some things I’d like to talk with you about, Mantis,” he continued._

_Her antennae flared and her eyes narrowed. “Master?”_

_Ego stood up and moved toward her, gesturing her to sit down. He smiled… he smiled_ softly _at her, and Mantis’ stomach felt twisted up, her already frayed emotions becoming something almost physical, weighing her down. She dropped beside him like the muscles in her legs had simply refused to hold her up anymore._

_“He showed you something,” Ego said. She nodded._

_“It was like…” Mantis started to speak, but the words… any words that tried to come out just did not seem right._

_“Like he knew you. Loved you,” Ego supplied. She looked at him, looked directly into his eyes, before she could stop herself. “Like you were his family.”_

_“But I have no family,” she whispered. “That is why you… saved me.”_

_“I did,” Ego said, shifting to rest his hands on his knees. “Your mother was a selfish woman. She would have rather you died with your dying world than for you to be away from her, but safe and protected.” He took a deep breath._

_“I was afraid Peter’s mother would do the same… I was so afraid, Mantis, that I did something terrible… but, with the very best of intentions for my son. I hoped to save him, just like I saved you. Do you understand?”_

_She shook her head._

_“That’s alright,” he said, and touched her hand. She felt his love for Peter’s mother--Meredith, the River Lily. It was bright and warm. And then she felt something else… a dull shadow of that same brightness, tepid and tasteless. Yet, familiar. Like a favorite toy not seen since childhood._

_And she understood._

_“You did not love my mother,” she said._

_“No, I did not.”_

_Mantis swallowed hard and took a shaky breath. “Am I one of them? Your progeny?”_

_“You are.”_

_“I do not…” She shook her head. “I do not remember… the light. Like the others…”_

_“You were very young. We played a game. You simply lost.”_

_“But I was still… useful.”_

_“Quite.”_

_She looked over at Peter, asleep by her hand on one of the ship’s sitting platforms. There were several hours yet until they would arrive home. He’d sleep until then, and probably even for a few hours after that._

_A ripple of fear, an echo of what Peter shared with her, shuddered through her; she hoped Ego interpreted it as a mere flare of raw emotion._

_“And he is different,” she said._

_“Yes,” Ego sighed. “But…”_

_“He is afraid of you. He… hates you.”_

_“I’m afraid so.” Ego raised his hand and ran his fingers down the back of her head, trailing down her hair until he rested his palm between her shoulder blades._

_“He was supposed to be with us a long time ago, Mantis. Things were supposed to be different. I wanted for you to grow up together, to have your brother’s love your whole life… but he was poisoned against us. The man I sent to bring him to us kept him instead, hid him away and made him fear and hate me, like you said… and now here we are…”_

_He smiled at her. She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “And you’ve been so strong all these years, becoming so skilled and now… I need your help, to_ convince _him that he’s been misled. That he’s home now, and where he belongs. That it’s time to be a family and do what he’s meant to do.”_

_Mantis looked up at him, met his eyes again, for the second time in one day. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so brave, or stupid._

_“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”_

* * *

Peter squeezed himself up against the outer wall of the palace, pulling his knees in closer as one of the grapefruit sized chunks of ice dropped onto his foot. He hissed and turned, backing up against a pillar and drawing his feet up under the tiny overhang.

He noticed the slightest buffer. None of the hailstones hit the palace wall, not a single flake of gold was touched by the weather, and he tried to use that to his advantage, hugging as close to the building as he could.

The entrance was still just a few feet away, but he glared at it before looking back out at the trees whipping in the wind. He could barely make out their shapes in the dark, but he could almost imagine…

When the lightning struck, and the thunder sounded in the distance… it was so old and familiar, it was almost too hard to push down the lump in his throat. The smell of the rain mixed in with the giant hail… the storm…

Peter shook his head, clutching his numbing fingers together between his knees. He had to hand it to the jackass. His work was pretty top notch.

He really half expected to hear one of those awful air raid sirens… he closed his eyes, and could _see_ his mother grabbing the flashlight and the radio and pulling him down into the basement.

They had a little nest of blankets down there, under the stairs. During tornado season… sometimes the power would go out, and they’d end up down there for an hour or so… playing cards by the light of Pops’ old oil lamp. Or mom would have him read her a book, practice sounding things out. Or she’d read him one.

Sometimes he’d fall asleep, just listening to the radio, and wake up scared… but climb up the stairs to find her in the kitchen, like nothing was ever wrong in the first place.

Peter dropped his head to his knees and gritted his teeth, tensing up to fight down a wave of shivers.

He hated, _hated_ that _this place_ was making him… making him _remember_ … This wasn’t Terra. It was _so far_ from being Terra. As far as Peter was concerned, this planet had _killed_ Terra for him, and it wasn’t okay that _any_ of it was coming back like this, _here_ \--

“Peter?”

He looked up. Mantis stood there, under what looked like an umbrella, holding his coat. He glared at her, squinting through the odd spray of tiny raindrops.

“He send you?”

She clutched his coat more tightly to her. “I asked.”

Peter looked down at his clammy hands, then nodded and held one out. She leaned down and handed him the coat. He closed his eyes, sighing gratefully as he pulled it over himself.

“Thanks,” he said.

Mantis nodded. “You are welcome.”

He expected her to leave, but she didn’t. She just stood there, watching him. Waiting. Peter tucked his chin into the collar of the backwards longcoat, and tried to pull his arms awkwardly into the sleeves so it would cover his knees a little more.

“You can tell him I’m not coming in,” he murmured.

She crouched down. “Oh, I know. He said you would say that.”

“Right…” he sighed. “So…?”

Mantis knelt down on the wet stone of the terrace and held the umbrella toward him a bit, extending the dry patch beyond just herself and sharing it with him. She scootched on her knees closer to him.

“I just…” she started, looking down at the patterns in the floor. “I… I _know_ that you do not wish to be here, but…” she looked up. “ _I_ am glad you are,” she finished softly, just loudly enough for him to hear over the sound of the rain, wind and hail.

He looked at her intensely, brow tight. “You don’t even know me.”

“But I will. You _showed_ me,” her eyes widened with excitement. “We are family.” She tried to smile. In that old way she used to, years ago, at the beginning. Before she’d had much practice.

Peter almost had to laugh.

“Mantis, I--”

She held her hand up. “You do not have to come in. But… you are not alone, here. Please… think about it.”

Peter closed his eyes.

He was so tired. He was so tired of fighting. This was hard enough the first time, and now it seemed even harder.

It wasn’t supposed to _happen_ like this.

He thought of Mantis, curled up under a blanket, eyes red-rimmed and exhausted in the Sanctum. Wrung out. He thought of Rocket, wide awake, for days at a time. He didn’t talk about Drax anymore.

He thought about Drax. He tried not to think about Drax.

He thought about Groot, trying to keep him out of as much as he could. He couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to him. Again. Please, not again.

And Gamora, trying to make him laugh. He felt the map of her calloused fingers as he traced them with his own, knowing each ridge and scar.

He looked down and saw the wrong hand holding his as she helped him up, tinged a slight yellow from the glow cast by her antennae.

Peter was far too tired to fight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


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